


Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur

by ziggyzigzagged



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Slow Build, Some Canon, Some legends canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Tatooine Slave Culture, Time Travel Fix-It, Yoda's Stew, what even is canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 264,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggyzigzagged/pseuds/ziggyzigzagged
Summary: No one knows what the Council is hiding, but the effects ripple throughout the galaxy. Anakin knows he is loved. Former slaves are freed. A long-lost Master and his Padawan are returned to the Temple. No one understands how Obi-Wan Kenobi does these things, but they are grateful for it anyway.A time-travel story from the points of view of everyone but the time travelers. Also my first ever fanfiction. Updates every Monday now, starting 4/20!
Comments: 2198
Kudos: 4336





	1. Anakin

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I have never written a fanfiction before, but I've read a lot of it. Most of my Star Wars knowledge comes from fanfiction, the movies, and the Clone Wars series, so I'm not entirely sure what's canon and what's fanon to be honest.
> 
> I'm looking forward to constructive feedback, and this hasn't been beta read, so if you have any notes, please tell me! I just passed the 50k word mark on my first draft and decided that's a bit excessive to write a story just for myself. Hopefully you enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely reviewers who pointed me in the direction of Fialleril! Being so new to the fanfiction world, I'd seen lots of Tatooine slave culture here and there, but I had no idea it was created by Fialleril!
> 
> Tatooine slave culture is going to be present in varying amounts throughout this story, and a big thank you and acknowledgement to Fialleril for sparking the whole fanon.

“Mr. Qui-Gon said not to leave the cockpit.”

The pilots gave each other looks of confused exasperation and then one of them--a man named Jinto with kind eyes, dark hair, and a broad, easy grin--shook his head at Anakin.

“Kid, the battle’s over. It’s safe to come out of there now.”

Anakin opened his mouth to argue when all of their comms went off, the sound echoing throughout the large room.

“ _If anyone is available, we need a medic down in the main reactor room._ ”

And Anakin felt a thrill of _fear_ , because that was Mr. Obi-Wan’s voice. If it was Mr. Obi-Wan asking for help, and not Mr. Qui-Gon, did that mean Mr. Qui-Gon was _hurt_? Was he going to be okay? What would happen to Anakin if he wasn’t okay? Could they save him?

“ _What is the nature of the medical emergency?_ ” another voice responded.

“M _aster Jinn took a lightsaber blow to the stomach,_ ” Mr. Obi-Wan said. He sounded like he’d been breathing heavily, but there was a sort of calm that Anakin latched on to. If Mr. Obi-Wan was calm, then it couldn’t be that bad, right? “ _I’ve gotten him stabilized and into a healing trance, but I expect he’ll need surgery and bacta quickly if he is to improve_.”

And Anakin wasn’t stupid, and he might be young, but he wasn’t so naive anymore, and he easily translated what that meant: if they wanted to keep Mr. Qui-Gon alive, they’d have to get to him fast.

Another realization hit him, then--Mr. Qui-Gon wasn’t able to give him instructions for now. Anakin looked up again at Jinto, who gave him a tight smile and held out a hand to help him out of the cockpit.

Once he was back on solid ground, one hand pressed against the top of R2’s dome, Anakin realized he was shaking, his legs not-quite-steady beneath him, the way he sometimes felt at the end of a pod race. His mom had always pursed her lips and muttered something about adrenaline highs when it happened, and then wrapped him up in a blanket and gave him a little bit of warm blue milk.

He missed her _so much_ , but… if anything happened to Mr. Qui-Gon, he’d probably get sent back to her. That was something, at least, even if it meant he would go back to being a slave.

* * *

Anakin let Jinto and his wingman, Cyrus, lead him to the medical wing of the palace. They sat him down on one of the beds, R2 standing watch beside him, and Anakin let their conversation just float in the air around him, not really paying attention. He was thinking about Tatooine, and about Naboo, and Padme, and he wondered if he could ask Padme if he could stay here, with the rest of her pilots. He was really good at it! It wasn’t even all that different from racing pods, after all.

And maybe if they paid him for it, he could eventually buy his mom from Watto, and she could live on Naboo with them, and none of them would have to be slaves again. Maybe he could get good enough at being a pilot that he could take a fighter back to Tatooine and free the rest of the slaves, too, blasting the Hutts who sold all the slaves from the safety of the air. Nobody who went into the Hutts’ places ever came out unless they worked for them or they were coming out in chains, after all. It wasn’t like he could just _walk in_ and attack them--

 **_Pay attention_**.

Anakin’s spine straightened, and he blinked, refocusing on the moment. There, walking through the doorway, was Mr. Obi-Wan. Somehow, he looked… different. When Anakin had first seen him, Mr. Obi-Wan had looked… bright. Happy. He walked with his back straight and shoulders back all the time, and it seemed like he smiled a lot.

He wasn’t smiling now. Mr. Obi-Wan looked sad, _worried_ , his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the galaxy, and there was blood on his clothes. Lots of blood.

Anakin leapt out of bed before Jinto or Cyrus could stop him, bolting for Mr. Obi-Wan. He needed to ask how Mr. Qui-Gon was, and he wanted to make sure Mr. Obi-Wan wasn’t hurt, and he--

As soon as Mr. Obi-Wan saw him coming, he surprised Anakin by kneeling down and holding out his arms. His mom used to do that, too--every night when he got home from Watto’s after her, after each pod race, after every time Watto got angry with him and talked about selling him.

Anakin didn’t hesitate, and crashed into Mr. Obi-Wan, clutching at the older boy’s clothes, heedless of the blood, feeling Mr. Obi-Wan’s arms wrap around him.

“Anakin,” he whispered, and his voice sounded choked, like he was going to cry, and Anakin pressed himself a little harder against Mr. Obi-Wan. “Oh, Ani.”

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked, his voice muffled from pressing his face into Mr. Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I’m alright. What about you?” Obi-Wan drew back slightly, though he placed one hand on each of Anakin’s shoulders. The way Mr. Obi-Wan looked at him, like he was really seeing him for the first time, something like _grief_ tugging at his face, made Anakin frown.

“I’m good,” Anakin said. “I was shaking a lot, for a while, but I’m okay now.”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled at him, but it seemed… sad. He reached up and smoothed Anakin’s hair with one gentle hand. “I heard you had quite the adventure.”

Anakin looked down at the floor, feeling his face heat. “Mr. Qui-Gon told me to stay in the cockpit!”

Mr. Obi-Wan laughed. “I know, Ani. I was there when he said it. I’m sure we’ll have to talk about it later, but all’s well that ends well.” Anakin looked up hopefully--he wasn’t mad?

As if he’d heard Anakin’s thought, Mr. Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Ani. I’m not mad. It was a very brave thing you did, and I doubt today would have been quite the success that it was if you hadn’t been in that fighter.” Mr. Obi-Wan stood slowly, and then he grimaced. “Oh dear.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been spotted,” Mr. Obi-Wan mock whispered, gesturing to someone behind Anakin. He turned, and there was a medic, looking positively horrified at the sight of Mr. Obi-Wan. They approached with quick steps, and Obi-Wan bowed as the man got closer. “Healer, I must assure you--”

“I’ll be assured of your condition myself, after I look you over,” the man said flatly. He looked down at the blood smeared across the tan fabric, and he shook his head. “By the Goddess, you shouldn’t even be _standing_ , losing that much blood--”

“It isn’t mine,” Mr. Obi-Wan interrupted him before frowning himself. “Well, most of it isn’t mine. The assassin is dead, and… Master Qui-Gon was injured. I performed first aid before he was moved to one of the rooms down the hall.”

The Healer nodded slowly. “Still, I’d feel much better if I could look you over.”

Mr. Obi-Wan locked eyes with the Healer, the two of them having a staring contest, and then Mr. Obi-Wan sighed, his shoulders slumping even further.

“Alright,” he acquiesced. He turned to Anakin. “It will be some time before we’re able to see Master Qui-Gon. Would you like to stay with me until then?” Anakin nodded eagerly, biting his lip and taking one of Mr. Obi-Wan’s hands. He seemed a lot… nicer, now. His instinct was proven correct when Mr. Obi-Wan gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his hand back, wrapping his larger one around Anakin’s tightly. “Come on, you can tell me all about blowing up the control ship while I’m being tortured.” He winked at Anakin, and the Healer scoffed at him.

Tentatively, Anakin let a little smile cross his face. Somehow, he thought everything might be okay.

* * *

The Healer took them back to another small room with only one bed, but there was a nice comfy chair that Anakin settled himself in. R2 had followed him yet again, and sat himself in one corner of the room, passively scanning the room. It made Anakin feel safe, and he beamed at the droid.

“Take those off,” the Healer ordered, waving a hand at Mr. Obi-Wan. “They’re a lost cause. I’ll find you something after we’re finished here.”

Mr. Obi-Wan chuckled even as he began to undress, starting with the belt around his waist. For the first time, Anakin noticed that there were two lightsabers and a bag hanging from it. One was his, and the other looked like it was Mr. Qui-Gon’s.

“You’d be surprised what the Temple cleaners can salvage,” he said mildly. The Healer just rolled his eyes and tossed a bag at him to put the tunics in. The Healer turned away, busying himself with putting on gloves and gathering bacta patches and bandages. Slowly, Mr. Obi-Wan stripped off the over-tunic, and then the under-tunic, and finally, the shirt that went beneath it all, and Anakin’s eyes went wide.

There, stretching from one side of Mr. Obi-Wan’s collar bone to the other, was an angry, bright white scar.

“Woah,” he breathed. “That’s so wizard!”

Mr. Obi-Wan blinked at him, frowning as if confused, and then Anakin pointed at the scar. Mr. Obi-Wan reached up slowly, feeling the edge of the scar, before quickly dropping his hand as if burned.

The Healer looked back, and then made a strangled noise. “What in the name of the Goddess--” He strode over in two large steps, reaching out to run a hand along the scar. Mr. Obi-Wan flinched. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Mr. Obi-Wan said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s… an old injury.”

The Healer blinked at him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What did _that_?”

“A lightsaber,” Mr. Obi-Wan said mildly.

“A lightsaber,” the man repeated, and then he shook his head, frowning. “It goes all the way _around_. What, was someone trying to cut your head off?”

“Well, yes,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, still just as calm an unflappable as ever. The Healer stared at him for a long moment and then threw his hands up, turning back to the table where the bacta patches, bandages, and a wet cloth were laid out.

“Fucking Jedi,” he muttered.

Mr. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and looked at Anakin. “Don’t repeat that.” Anakin giggled and nodded. He didn’t tell Mr. Obi-Wan he’d heard a lot _worse_ on Tatooine, both from Watto and the spacers that came around sometimes. “Now, I believe you have an adventure to tell me about?”

* * *

The Healer managed to find Mr. Obi-Wan new clothes, giving him simple tunics after Mr. Obi-Wan had looked quietly but desperately uncomfortable at the suggestion that the Queen’s entourage might have something for him. He left to give him privacy while Mr. Obi-Wan dressed, and returned a few minutes later, looking tired but pleased.

“I checked on Master Jinn for you,” the Healer said. “He’s still in surgery, but it’s going well. Another hour or two and they should be able to get him into a recovery room.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded slowly, looking relieved. “Thank you, Healer Baast.”

The man nodded, smiling at the two of them. “Captain Panaka has offered to escort you to the Queen, when you’re ready.”

Mr. Obi-Wan bowed again. “That would be best. Again, you have my thanks.”

The Healer grinned at him and shook his head. “It’s the least we can do, after everything you’ve done to help us. You’ll want to change the bandage on your arm every day for the next week, but the burn was superficial. It’ll heal up nicely with a bit of bacta. Now, off you go.”

As Mr. Obi-Wan led them out of the room to find Captain Panaka, Anakin again grabbed his hand, feeling a little warmer when Mr. Obi-Wan again just looped his own, much longer, fingers around Anakin’s hand.

“So Mr. Qui-Gon is gonna be okay?” Anakin asked, and Mr. Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again gently.

“We can’t be certain, Ani, but my feelings tell me he will be alright.”

 _Relief_ hit Anakin so strongly that his knees felt weak for a second, but he just nodded and allowed Mr. Obi-Wan to continue leading them.

Captain Panaka was even nicer to them than he had been before. As they walked, he laid out the full situation for them.

“The Gungan assault on the droid army was a success, with surprisingly few casualties,” Panaka told them. “We lost four pilots before the control ship went down--” He paused to give Anakin a slow grin, and Anakin flushed, grinning widely. “--and aside from Master Jinn, there were no major injuries within the palace. Overall, it was better than I could have hoped for. We owe you our thanks, Master Jedi, little Skywalker.”

“We come to serve, Captain,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, and Anakin recognized the way he’d said it, like it was a ritual of some sort. “I’m simply grateful that there were so few deaths among the fighters. The Force truly was with us. But tell me, do you know the condition of the population? I understand the conditions in the camps were… bleak.”

Captain Panaka sighed and nodded, turning yet another corner. Anakin was glad he was leading them--it would’ve been so easy to get lost. The palace was _huge_ , bigger than any building Anakin had ever seen before, even Gardulla’s palace on Tatooine. It was pretty, too, with lots of shiny stone and paintings and statues. Every now and then, one of the statues was lying shattered on the floor, or a window was broken, with glass lying around, but the damage didn’t seem _too_ bad. It made Anakin happy, knowing that Padme’s home would be cleaned up quickly.

“You’re right there,” Tyhpo confirmed, sighing. “Several of the camps were hit by sickness, and most of them had severe food shortages.”

Mr. Obi-Wan was nodding slowly. “Once I speak to the Queen, I’ll see what the Order can do on that front.”

Panaka smiled, looking surprised. “That would be much appreciated.”

He led them to a room with a large, carved wooden table. Most of the handmaidens were seated at the table, bent over various datapads, while Padme’s advisors surrounded her in a huddle. When she caught sight of them, she beamed brightly and excused herself, walking over to them.

“Your Highness,” Mr. Obi-Wan greeted, letting go of Anakin’s hand to bow. Anakin tried to copy the motion, although it was a bit clumsier than Mr. Obi-Wan’s.

“My friends,” Padme said gently. “Words can’t express how relieved I am to see you well, and the gratitude that I, and all of the Naboo, feel for you. You have done us a great service today.” She smiled a bit wider at Anakin. “And you as well, Anakin. I understand we have you to thank for the destruction of the control ship.”

“I, ah, I just did what I could to help,” Anakin said haltingly, feeling himself blushing. She laughed brightly.

“Well, I thank you for it,” Padme said. “You are both heroes to us.” She sobered somewhat, looking back to Mr. Obi-Wan. “I was sorry to hear that Master Jinn was injured. Reports from my medical staff are promising, however.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded, his smile tight and weary. “Yes, I do think he will recover.”

“And the assassin?"

“I believe he is now in the palace morgue, Your Highness,” Mr. Obi-Wan said. “But if I may make a request of you…?”

“Of course.”

“The Council will likely wish to see him for themselves, if you would be willing to release the body to the Order.”

“That can be arranged,” Padme agreed, nodding.

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded deeply in thanks. “I understand from Captain Panaka's summary that there are several major medical issues facing those freed from the camps.”

Padme sighed, her shoulders slumping, and she nodded. She looked tired. “Yes. The Federation treated them badly. Starvation and sickness were rampant in those camps.”

“I will need to report to the Council soon. When I do, I can make a request that some of the Order’s MediCorps are sent to Naboo to help,” Mr. Obi-Wan offered, and Padme blinked at him in surprise.

“Can that be done? I had thought such requests needed to be approved by the Senate.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Obi-Wan said simply. “Requests for aid are generally not made directly to the Order, but rather to the Senate, who then refer them to us, if they feel we can help. But a call for help directly to the Jedi will always be heard.”

Padme nodded, a relieved smile crossing her face. “I would be very grateful for any further help you are able to provide.”

“We come to serve,” Mr. Obi-Wan said again. He put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Would Anakin be able to stay with your handmaidens while I make my report? I feel that it is to be a rather long one.”

“Of course,” Padme agreed. “We are nearly finished here for now. I’ll look after him.” She winked at Anakin, and he smiled helplessly at her, his ears turning red.

* * *

Anakin didn’t see Mr. Obi-Wan again for a few hours. Eventually, when Padme realized that he was growing antsy, she asked if he’d like to go back down to the hangar and get R2 cleaned up. He’d agreed enthusiastically, and it had made him feel warm and happy when the pilots and the mechanics alike all seemed pleased to see him and their Queen.

“You have all acted with great bravery today,” Padme said to the gaggle of Naboo who surrounded them as soon as they entered. “I cannot thank you enough for your actions in our defense. I know that many of your homes were affected by the invasion, so all of you will be welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Our people are being freed from the camps as we speak, and anyone who is unable to return home will be offered a place here. Once we have more information, I will send my handmaidens to you to help you find your families.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jinto said. “And, ah, if I may… we were proud to serve you. Your own actions gave us the hope we all needed to make it through.”

Padme smiled gently, and Anakin got the sense that it was a near thing that she didn’t blush.

“We are all stronger together,” Padme said, and then she paused. “I can see that our ships need repair. How would you all feel about help from a new ally?”

Jinto laughed. “I can’t say we wouldn’t welcome the help, and I know the kid’s a good pilot. You’re telling me he’s a mechanic, too?” He smiled at Anakin, who nodded enthusiastically.

“I can fix anything! I even built my own podracer back home!”

Padme laughed softly. “You’re welcome to help, if they don’t mind,” she said. “But that is not quite what I meant. Boss Nass of the Gungan people has offered further assistance to us. They are quite adept when it comes to technology, and I believe they could be of great help. They are already setting to work salvaging what they can from the Federation’s equipment, and Boss Nass has indicated that he can spare a few Gungans to help with our repairs.”

The Naboo exchanged a few startled glances, and then Jinto nodded slowly. “I’ve never met a Gungan before, but I’d be glad for the help, Your Highness.”

She smiled. “It is yet another victory we earned today. The Federation meant to break us, and instead have united our planet as never before. I will speak to Boss Nass.” She turned to Anakin. “In the meantime, perhaps you could help look after the ships while I see to R2?”

Anakin nodded eagerly, and quickly found himself elbows-deep in wiring on one of the fighters. Jinto had quickly realized that he knew what he was doing, and Anakin only really needed help when he was trying to figure out what a label said, since he didn’t read Basic.

“You can’t read?” Jinto asked. There hadn’t been any judgement in his voice, simply confusion. Anakin shrugged.

“I _can_ read! Just Huttese and Bocce, not Basic,” Anakin explained. “Basic isn’t really used a lot on Tatooine.”

“That’s where you’re from, then?” Jinto asked, handing him the hydrospanner he needed for the next part of disassembling the fried panel.

“Yeah, that’s where Mr. Qui-Gon found me,” Anakin said, and Jinto had prompted him for the full story.

The hours had passed quickly, and it was already starting to get dark when Mr. Obi-Wan found him in the hangar.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, and Anakin had quickly rolled out from underneath the fighter he’d been working on. Mr. Obi-Wan was looking at him with a strange sort of smile, kind of like the ones his mom used to give him--sort of sad, but also caring. “Has he been a help to you?”

Jinto laughed. “Very helpful, actually. Kid really knows his stuff.”

Mr. Obi-Wan nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. But now we need to go get you cleaned up, Anakin. It’s nearly time for dinner, and the Healers have told us we can see Master Qui-Gon after.”

Anakin whooped happily and clapped his grease-covered hands. “So he’s gonna be okay, right?”

“In time, yes,” Mr. Obi-Wan said, his relief clear. “He was badly injured, however. He won’t be able to wake up yet, when we see him. They’re keeping him asleep so he can rest and heal.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, accepting this easily. “As long as he’ll be alright eventually, I guess I can wait.”

Mr. Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head. “Come along, then. We’ll see if we can’t get you back here tomorrow to keep helping.”

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed. He started to reach for Obi-Wan’s hand, thinking better of it at the last second, covered in grease and oil as he was. Mr. Obi-Wan surprised him by completing the gesture, holding his hand, seemingly unconcerned by the mess. Anakin beamed and twisted around to wave his other hand at Jinto. “Bye! I’ll see you later!”

“Goodnight, kiddo,” Jinto said. “Master Jedi.”

* * *

Dinner was nice and quiet after the excitement of the day, and Anakin finally felt how _tired_ he actually was. He picked at the assortment of strange, almost too-sweet fruits, nuts, dried meats, and cheeses they’d been given, and kept glancing at Mr. Obi-Wan. He looked thoughtful, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how to say it.

“How’d talking to the Council go?” Anakin prompted, and Mr. Obi-Wan sighed.

“It was very… long,” he said dully. “But productive.” Mr. Obi-Wan paused, then sighed. “I spoke to them about you. They were… alarmed by the danger you were in, but very pleased by the outcome. Anakin, there are… there is much more to being a Jedi than what Master Qui-Gon told you. There simply wasn’t _time_ , before, but I’d like to explain a few things.”

“Okay.” Anakin frowned in confusion. The Council had already said that he wasn’t going to be trained, and he… well, he was disappointed, but he knew Mr. Qui-Gon would take care of him, one way or another. He’d _promised_ . He didn’t know where that left him, but it didn’t sound like it would be with the Jedi. But it would be okay, even if he wasn’t a Jedi, because Master Qui-Gon had _promised_.

“My Master has a habit of… going against the rules he disagrees with,” Mr. Obi-Wan started, looking fondly exasperated. Anakin got the feeling it was something that happened a lot. “One of them is that no one is meant to simply join the Order and immediately become a Padawan. Before becoming a Padawan, children go into the Temple creche, to become Initiates. That is where they learn the basic skills and philosophies they will need to progress further in the Order.

“Due to your circumstances, your knowledge base is… unbalanced. You are incredibly advanced in certain areas, such as mechanics, and allowing the Force to guide you,” Mr. Obi-Wan explained. “But in other areas, you still need the instruction that the creche would provide. Basic meditation, shielding, galactic history and other classes--these are all things no one could _expect_ you to know, of course, not having grown up in the Temple, and it is a large part of why the Council disagreed so vehemently with Master Qui-Gon taking you as a Padawan right away.”

“But also ‘cause of you,” Anakin said softly, and Mr. Obi-Wan sighed again.

“Technically, yes,” he answered. “The Council have been suggesting that Master Qui-Gon put me forward for my Trials for _months_ , apparently. They already believed that I am ready to be a Knight, but they could not accept that Master Qui-Gon seemed to agree only when it became necessary so that he could take you on. Master Qui-Gon… did not give the best presentation of his plan.” Mr. Obi-Wan shook his head. “Ani, what I’m trying to tell you is that I spoke to the Council and got them to change their minds, on some things.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide and he dropped the piece of cheese he’d been holding. “You mean I’m gonna be a Jedi after all? Really?!”

“There is no guarantee, Ani,” Mr. Obi-Wan said gently. “But you have been accepted as an Initiate. Master Qui-Gon will not be allowed to take you as his Padawan until you are eleven, as is our custom for all Initiates. There is also no guarantee that Master Qui-Gon will be able to take you on, or that another Master would come forward to take you. But I have faith in you, and in the Force.”

“So what do I have to do?” Anakin asked, face scrunching up thoughtfully. “To make sure I’m chosen as a Padawan?”

“There isn’t anything you can do to _make_ it happen,” Mr. Obi-Wan sighed. “You know, Master Qui-Gon almost didn’t choose me. I nearly aged out and got sent away before he claimed me at the last possible moment. There is nothing you can do besides giving your best effort, Ani.

“And it will not be the end, if you are not chosen,” he continued. “Do you remember me talking to the Queen about the MediCorps?”

“Yeah.”

“They are one branch of the Order. Knights and Masters are the most well-known Jedi, but there are other ways to serve the Order and the Force. The MediCorps is one of them--they are healers and doctors who research new medicines and provide aid to places like Naboo, or worlds that have been struck by pandemics. We also have the AgriCorps, where I was almost assigned. They grow plants, and research new ways to make food grow better. They supply a lot of planets in need with food, whether they are in need due to war, or a harsh climate. Then there is the EduCorps, who are knowledge keepers, researchers, and teachers.” Mr. Obi-Wan looked at him, his eyes gleaming, a small smile on his face. “But I think if you do not become a Padawan, you would go to the ExploraCorps, if you wish to stay within the Order. The ExploraCorps go to many different systems. They’re the ones who map new parts of space, catalog new planets, and explore old ruins.”

Anakin gaped at him. “So I’d get to be a pilot _and_ and explorer? That sounds wizard!”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled. “I thought you might like that,” he said.

“I think I’d be happy there,” Anakin said slowly, “but I still think I’m _supposed_ to be a Jedi Knight.”

“We shall have to wait until the future gets here to see what it holds, little one,” Mr. Obi-Wan said fondly, and then he winked at Anakin. “But my feelings suggest you might be right.” Anakin beamed. “Again, the only thing you can do for now is learn, which will help you no matter what path you follow. If you would like, I can begin teaching you to meditate tomorrow, before you go to assist the mechanics.”

“You’d do that?” Anakin asked, suddenly shy. Mr. Obi-Wan smiled gently at him, but it had that _sad_ quality to it again.

“Of course,” he said.

“I just… I didn’t think you liked me very much,” Anakin muttered, staring down at the piece of fruit he was playing with. Mr. Obi-Wan sighed

“Please look at me, Anakin,” he said gently, and Anakin looked up through his lashes at him, obeying on instinct. Mr. Obi-Wan reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m very sorry. I treated you unfairly, when we first met. I have… visions, given to me by the Force. It gives me a sense of the future. When I met you, I sensed something very Dark, and very dangerous. At first, I thought it was coming from you. But I believe now that it was the Sith.

“While I did kill the Sith who hurt Master Qui-Gon, there are always two of them, a Master and an apprentice. So we know that there is at least one Sith still out there. The danger still lurks, and the Darkness they create is growing. Your future is… no matter what path you take, I sense that your future is intertwined with them. That is why I sensed the Darkness around you, and your future. But either way, it was still unkind and wrong of me to allow it to color my impression of you. I’m very sorry, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

Anakin stared at him, and then blinked a few times. Nobody had ever _really_ apologized to him like that, besides him mom a couple of times--before now, he’d just been a slave, not somebody people needed to worry about hurting or offending, and even if they did, they always apologized to Watto, and not to him.

“Uh, yeah. Okay. That… makes sense,” Anakin said, stumbling over his words. He nodded once, decisively. “I accept your apology. And, uh, thanks.”

Mr. Obi-Wan beamed at him and nodded. “We’d better finish eating so we can get to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“I thought we were gonna go see Mr. Qui-Gon.”

“We are,” Mr. Obi-Wan answered. “I asked the Healers to set us up a couple of beds in his room. Even though Master Qui-Gon is asleep right now, he’ll still be able to feel us in the Force. Having familiar people close by helps with healing.”

“My mom always does that, when I’m sick,” Anakin said, smiling at the memories. “She’d let me sleep in her bed with her. It was nice.”

Mr. Obi-Wan smiled and ruffled his hair, ignoring Anakin’s surprised squawk. “That does sound lovely, Ani. Now, finish up, and we can go see him.”

* * *

When Anakin had first met Master Qui-Gon, he’d seemed larger than life. He was as tall and broad as a Wookie, Anakin thought, and he seemed so strong and so wise. It hadn’t ever even occurred to him that something might happen to Mr. Qui-Gon.

Now, seeing him laying there in a bed in the medical wing of the palace, he looked… He was so _pale_ , and there were tubes sticking out of his arms. His Jedi tunics had been replaced by a light blue shirt, only his chest and shoulders visible above the blanket they’d pulled over him. He was so _still_ , and he’d always been kind of still, but… before, he’d felt like a tree, swaying ever-so-slightly in the wind. Now he felt like a stone, unmoving, almost inert.

Mr. Obi-Wan was reading over the medical chart on the datapad beside the bed, and he gestured for Anakin to get into the bed on one side of Mr. Qui-Gon’s bed. Anakin shifted uncomfortably.

“Um, Mr. Obi-Wan, sir?”

Mr. Obi-Wan looked up, a strange expression on his face. “Please, call me Obi-Wan. Or Obi, if you prefer.”

“Oh, um, okay,” he said, frowning. Mr. Obi-Wan-- _Obi_ \--smiled at him gently and clicked off the datapad.

“He’s healing well. It’s still early, yet, but everything looks good so far. I know it’s… unsettling to see him this way, but he should recover,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Now, what was it you’d like to ask?”

“Can I… um, I mean, can you… can we share a bed?” Anakin asked, flushing, looking down at the tile floors. Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully.

“That should be manageable,” he said lightly, and Anakin looked up hopefully. “Neither of us is quite as large as Master Qui-Gon, so there should be room for us both.” Anakin grinned at him and then clambered up onto the bed eagerly.

Obi-Wan took his time coming to bed, sitting down on the edge of Mr. Qui-Gon’s bed first, taking one of his hands and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Feeling like he was seeing something private, Anakin closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he felt the bed dip as Obi-Wan settled down beside him, and then gently pulled him back so that Anakin’s back was nestled up against his side. Anakin hummed contentedly--Obi was _warm_ , and everything had felt too cold since he’d left Tatooine.

“Rest now, Ani. Everything’s going to be alright.”

And Anakin knew better than to trust a promise like that. He might still be just a kid, but his mom hadn’t been able to protect him from _everything_ , not with the lives they’d had. He knew that nobody could really promise that, they couldn’t _know_ , but… for some reason, he believed Obi-Wan.

He fell asleep quickly, and for the first time since leaving Tatooine, Anakin didn’t dream about his mother.

* * *

“You want me to what?” Anakin scrunched his nose up at Obi-Wan, who merely smiled at him patiently.

“I’d like you to reach out and see if you can tell what I’m thinking about. Like a guessing game, but it won’t be a guess. The Force will guide you.”

“But I thought meditating was more like… sitting still and closing your eyes and thinking a lot?”

Obi-Wan laughed brightly. “It is, but I don’t think that’s a good place to start for you. Everyone learns differently, and you’ve never tried to meditate before. You haven’t even had any proper instruction on how to use the Force. What you’ve learned has come naturally, and it will be easiest to work with that. Now, I’ve noticed that you’re able to sense quite a bit about a person’s intentions through the Force. We’re going to use what you already know and simply expand on that. Once you’re able to feel what it’s like to reach out for the Force deliberately, instead of just running on instinct, then we can move toward more traditional meditation exercises.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Good. Now, close your eyes, and see if you can reach me in the Force.”

Anakin closed his eyes, focusing first on the breathing exercise Obi-Wan had taught him, and then paid attention to the _feeling_ that was always with him. Sometimes it was like… an itch at the back of his brain, or a tug in his gut. There were lots of people around, he could tell. They were in one of the gardens, and Anakin could even feel the plants around him. It was like they were _singing_.

There was a _tug_ at the thought of plants, and Anakin focused all of his attention on it. An image formed in his mind: a tree so tall entire _cities_ could fit inside of it, different wooden buildings built into the branches, rope ladders and stairs built onto it, curving up around the sides in a spiral. There were lots of lights, too, shimmering brightly, and he could feel so much _life_.

Anakin opened his eyes. “That’s a really big tree. Is that what you were thinking about?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, too, smiling widely. “I was.”

“I saw it! That was _wizard_. It was so _big_ , bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before!” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“The tree I was thinking of is on Kashyyyk. The Wookie people build their homes up in the trees,” Obi-Wan explained, and Anakin’s eyes went wide.

“Can we do another one?”

“Of course. Close your eyes.”

* * *

They fell into an easy routine for the next few weeks. Obi-Wan would wake him up and they would eat breakfast, often with Padme and her handmaidens, and then Obi-Wan would teach him something new about the Force, or work with him on learning Basic (and their progress on that front went much faster when Obi-Wan started using ship manuals to teach Anakin, which seemed to amuse Obi-Wan for some reason). They’d eat a light lunch, and then Anakin would go to the hangar to help repair the ships while Obi-Wan went… wherever it was he went for those few hours. Obi-Wan would come to collect him for dinner, and then they would retire to Mr. Qui-Gon’s room to sleep near him.

After a little more than three weeks of learning (and there was _so much_ to learn, Anakin felt like his head was spinning sometimes; after he’d gotten better about sensing people, Obi-Wan had taught him how to shield, and then moved on to showing Anakin how to sense more from other life around them), Obi-Wan broke their routine.

“Anakin, wake up.”

Anakin groaned and shifted, blinking his eyes open. Distantly, he noted that it was still dark in their room, no sunlight streaming in through the large windows. He sat up quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, a gentle but excited grin on his face. “I only wanted to show you something, if you’re up to it.”

“‘M awake,” he insisted, nodding and holding back a yawn.

“Come on, then. Follow me.”

Obi-Wan took his hand and led him down the large, twisting hallways, and then opened a door to a covered balcony. Anakin’s eyes went wide.

There was so much _water_ , and it was _falling from the sky_ \-- A bolt of light crossed the clouds--was that _lightening_ ? A moment later, he jumped as a loud _clap_ reached his ears, and then he laughed, his pulse quickening with giddy excitement. He darted forward to the edge of the balcony that was not covered and lifted his arms to the sky. Distantly, through the clouds and the chilly, pelting _rain_ , he could see Naboo’s moon, and he thanked Ar-Amu, the All-Mother. He laughed brightly as the drops hit his face, made his hair stick to him, soaked through his clothes until he was shivering with cold, but still he did not lower his arms, and he made no move to get back into cover.

Anakin wasn’t sure how long he stood there, sometimes twirling about in the rain, jumping in the puddles forming on the balcony, turning his face up and closing his eyes and opening his mouth to catch as many drops as he could, just because he could. When the rain finally began to let up, fat, slow drops coming down instead of an endless curtain of water, Anakin turned back to Obi-Wan, who was watching him with that half-sad smile again.

“Let’s get you into some dry clothes, shall we?” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nodded, splashing water from his hair.

He darted forward to take Obi-Wan’s hand again and squeezed it tightly. “Thank you, Obi.”

“You’re very welcome, dear one.”

* * *

When Anakin woke the second time, far later that morning, Obi-Wan seemed… worried.

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked, pressing himself against Obi-Wan’s side. Immediately, Obi-Wan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. It made Anakin feel… good, and safe, when Obi-Wan was close to him like this, and it seemed like Obi felt better, too.

“The Council and several politicians will be arriving from Coruscant today,” Obi-Wan explained. “I can only hope that they allow me to remain here on Naboo, with Master Qui-Gon, until he is recovered enough to go back to the Temple.”

“Can’t you just tell them that you need to stay with him?” Anakin asked, frowning. “It helps him, having us here--you said so yourself!”

“And I will say it to them, too,” Obi-Wan assured him, “but if I present my case, and the Council disagrees, and decides to send me elsewhere, then it is my duty as a Jedi to follow their wishes.” He glanced down at Anakin, an _impish_ look on his face. “Or disobey, and accept the consequences. Master Qui-Gon often chose that route himself.”

Anakin giggled softly and pressed closer to Obi-Wan, his smile fading. “I’m not going to get to stay with you much longer. I can feel it. But I don’t want you to go away.”

“Ani…” Obi-Wan sighed and knelt down, putting a hand on each shoulder. “I know it hurts, having to leave people behind. But your path is yours alone, and very rarely will anyone be able to walk it with you all of the time. I know that I _will_ leave Master Qui-Gon’s side soon. It is the way of things. I will miss him, but just because we are not together does not mean that we no longer care for each other. Like your mother--you didn’t wish to leave her, I know, but you both knew that it was necessary. That is what it means to be a Jedi. We do a great deal of good for a great many people, but everything has a trade-off. This is the price of the life I’ve chosen, the way of the Jedi, and if the Force means for me to walk apart from the people I care for, for a time, then I will not disobey it.” Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a small smile, then, and he squeezed Anakin’s shoulders gently. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I promise that I will always do my best to come back,” he said. “If I am able, I _will_ come for you, Anakin.”

Without a second thought, Anakin darted forward to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, Obi-Wan hugging him back tightly in return.

* * *

Several of the Jedi arrived first, the politicians from the Senate coming in a separate ship later on with even more Jedi with them for an escort. Obi-Wan had brought Anakin with him to meet them, and he stood quietly beside Obi-Wan with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Padme’s handmaidens, along with her advisors, had formed a neat receiving line, Padme herself standing in front of them all.

The dark-skinned Jedi, the one who always looked like he was annoyed, walked out first. Anakin struggled to remember his name, and tried to reach out to Obi-Wan in the Force for help.

 _Master Windu_ , Obi-Wan supplied, and Anakin nodded, doing his best to commit it to memory. After him came the red-skinned Togruta woman-- _Master Ti_? Anakin asked, and received an affectionate affirmative. The last was a man with dark hair just starting to turn white, and an already-white beard Anakin hadn’t seen before, and he felt Obi-Wan’s shields slam down around him, his entire body stiffening.

_Who’s that?_

_Master Qui-Gon’s own former Master, Yan Dooku_ , Obi-Wan answered, but it came through like a whisper, his shields having only loosened _just_ enough to let the thought through. Anakin wanted to ask what made Obi-Wan so uncomfortable, but he could tell it wasn’t the time.

“Master Jedi,” Padme said, nodding regally to them. They bowed in return. “I must thank you again for all that you have done to help my people. Without Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi, _and_ Initiate Skywalker, the battle would not have been a victory. And your MediCorps have helped us greatly.”

“We come to serve, Your Highness,” Master Ti answered, smiling softly. “I have, of course, read the reports Padawan Kenobi has sent, but perhaps you would not mind going over the details again?”

“My advisors and I would be happy to. Please, follow us; I will take you to meet Master Czkai, who has been coordinating the MediCorps’ efforts here on Naboo. We can speak on the way.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Master Ti sent Obi-Wan and Anakin a small smile and a nod before following the Queen and her entourage out of the hangar.

Master Windu and Master Dooku stepped toward them, and Obi-Wan bowed. Hastily, Anakin moved to copy him.

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted, his voice the same polite, inscrutable tone he’d first used when Anakin had met him instead of the warmth he’d grown used to.

“Padawan Kenobi, Initiate Skywalker,” Master Windu returned, looking at Anakin. He shifted slightly, clenching his hands together a bit harder.

“Um, hi,” Anakin said, remembering at the last second to add, “Masters.”

Master Windu’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Hello. Padawan Kenobi told the Council what you did during the Battle of Theed, young one.” He raised an eyebrow, and Anakin flushed, looking down at his boots.

“Um, I just… I mean, Master Qui-Gon told me to find a place to hide, and I ended up in the cockpit of a fighter, and then he told me to _stay there_ , and he really, really meant it!” Anakin explained, still staring at the floor, squirming a little. He looked up at Master Windu, eyes wide. “And I did! I stayed in the cockpit, just like he said! And I don’t… I didn’t know that the autopilot was on, really I didn’t! And it was taking me toward the battle _anyway_ , and I didn’t know how to stop it, ‘cause I don’t really read a lot of Basic yet. I didn’t _mean_ to do it, it just… happened. And once I was up there, I knew I _could_ help, and if I _could_ help, then I should, ‘cause that’s what my mom always told me and that’s what Jedi do.”

“Breathe, Anakin,” Obi-Wan instructed him gently, a bit of his usual warmth slipping back into his voice, and Anakin blushed harder and looked back down at the floor.

Master Windu actually _laughed_. “I understand, Initiate. It’s alright. Once you’re further along in your meditation exercises, I’ll assign you a few meditations on the nature of ‘recklessness,’ but we aren’t going to censure you for it.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking up hopefully. “Um, thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Master Windu replied, a half-smile on his face. “Now, is there someone who can watch over you for a little while? Master Dooku and I need to speak to Padawan Kenobi.”

Anakin nodded. “I can go help in the hangar--they’ll be happy to have me there so early! I know Jinto was having trouble with the starboard repulsors on Mari’s fighter, and I think I know how to fix it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Obi-Wan answered. “R2?” The little droid who had yet to stop following them around chirped happily. “Could you please go with him?” The droid beeped an affirmative, and Anakin was quietly relieved that he wouldn’t have to ask for directions, and could just ask R2 to show him to the way. Obi-Wan winked at him, and Anakin grinned sheepishly.

“C’mon, R2!” He raced out of the hangar, R2 beeping profanities at him, telling him not to run in the palace. Anakin just laughed.

He didn’t see why Obi-Wan was so worried. Anakin just _knew_ everything would be alright.

* * *

Anakin spent several hours in the hangar, happily chatting with the pilots and mechanics while they worked on the ships--the repairs had gone _quickly_ once the Gungans had sent over a few of their own mechanics, helping them to repair and even improve the fighters, and Mari’s stubborn repulsors were one of the last fixes needed before the little royal fleet was up and flying again. It wasn’t far off from dinnertime when Master Windu entered the hangar. Anakin caught sight of him and stopped working.

“Uh, I think I have to go now,” he said.

“Go on, kiddo,” Jinto said. “We’ve almost got this done. Thanks for catching that bad wire.”

“You’re welcome. Bye, Jinto!”

He happily bounced over to Master Windu before stopping. This time, he even remembered to bow. Master Windu nodded back.

“Let’s take a walk.” He led Anakin out of the hangar and slowly through the hallways. They walked for a minute or two in silence before Master Windu spoke again. “Obi-Wan said he told you that we have accepted you as an Initiate.”

Anakin nodded. “Obi-Wan explained everything to me.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

“Well, he told me what I’ll be doing as an Initiate. And he told me I can’t be a Padawan until I’m eleven, which is okay, because I need time to catch up,” Anakin said. “But he also told me that I might not be somebody’s Padawan, which is okay, too. I think I’d like the ExploraCorps--so many ships!” He paused for a second, frowning thoughtfully. “I mean, I think I’m _supposed_ to be a Padawan, but Obi-Wan told me it doesn’t always happen. I think he just wanted to make sure I didn’t… get my heart set on something and when it might not happen. But it’s okay, really. I like mechanics, and I’d be good at exploring, if I don’t become a Padawan.”

“That’s good,” Master Windu said slowly, nodding. “It’s always wise to think about all of the paths before you, but not to dwell on them.”

“That’s what Obi-Wan said, too,” Anakin agreed. “That’s why we’ve been focusing on what I’m gonna do when I go back to the Temple, in my classes and stuff. All I can do is learn, right now, and that’ll help me no matter where I end up.”

“You really have been listening to Obi-Wan,” Master Windu huffed quietly, shaking his head. “But that’s good. Obi-Wan is wise beyond his years.”

“You’re Knighting him, aren’t you?” Anakin asked, and Master Windu stopped in the middle of the hallway to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “I just… he seems to think it’s coming. He hasn’t really _said_ anything about it, but he seems to think he’s going to have to… go away, for a while. I think he was telling me so I have some warning when you start sending him on his own missions and stuff. You know, ‘cause it’s okay to miss someone and not want them to go, but you have to let them, if it’s what they need to do. Like how I left my mom on Tatooine.”

Master Windu blinked at him, and then he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Obi-Wan’s been doing a good job with you,” he said finally. “That’s a very mature way to look at things, and a viewpoint that a lot of adults struggle with themselves.”

“I may not really _believe_ it yet, but that’s okay too. I just have to be aware of it so I don’t let it distract me from what _needs_ to happen, until I can really let it go,” Anakin answered. “But you didn’t answer my question, Master Windu, sir. Are you Knighting Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Initiate. We are,” Master Windu confirmed before beginning to walk again. Anakin spared a thought for how grateful he was that he seemed to walk slow, making it easy for Anakin’s much smaller legs to keep up. “We wanted to perform the ceremony tonight, but Obi-Wan… declined.”

“‘Cause he’s waiting for Mr.-- _Master_ Qui-Gon. He told me it’s a big deal for the Padawan _and_ the Master,” Anakin supplied, and Master Windu nodded.

“Yes. Qui-Gon is a friend of mine, and Obi-Wan is… well, let’s just say I’m not about to fight him on the decision. It will be better for both of them if we wait,” Master Windu said, a hint of a wry smile on his face. “And with you going to the creche, there is no need to hurry up and get it over with. Speaking of which… I’d like to apologize, Initiate, on behalf of the Council. We frightened you, I know, and… words were said which should not have been spoken in your presence.”

“It’s okay,” Anakin said quickly. “Um, I mean, thank you for your apology, and I accept, but Obi-Wan already explained it to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He didn’t really like me much when we first met, either. But that wasn’t anything _I_ did. He just sees the future, and he saw a lot of Darkness around me, but that was probably because of the… bad people, the Sith?” Master Windu nodded slowly. “Anyway. He said my future is tied with theirs, which makes sense, ‘cause they use the Force, but they do it the wrong way and they hurt people, and Jedi have a duty to stand up to them and not let them do it. And I have a lot of the Force in me, and I’m training to be a Jedi, whether I end up in the Corps or as a Knight, so I’m going to have to see them in the future.”

Master Windu was silent for a long moment before he sighed. “Obi-Wan really did explain everything to you, didn’t he?”

Anakin nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh. He’s really good at it. He always knows what to say to make sure I get it.”

Another silence fell, then, and Anakin realized they’d been walking back to Master Qui-Gon’s room. When they entered, Obi-Wan was sitting in on the bed they’d been sleeping in, boots off and his legs crossed, looking over a datapad. Master Dooku was sitting in a chair on the other side of Qui-Gon’s bed, having pushed the third bed away, arms folded over his chest, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly.

“Did you get the repulsors fixed, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked without looking up from the datapad.

“Uh-huh! There was a bad wire in the port for the turbo,” Anakin answered. “But we decided to just rip it out and use one of the Gungan chips to upgrade the whole thing. It was wizard!”

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan said, patting the bed. Anakin shucked off his boots and climbed up. Obi-Wan finally looked up, giving him a smile before turning to Master Windu.

“Master Koon, Master Piell, and Master Fisto will be here in two hours,” Master Windu said. “Thankfully, after dinner. None of us wanted to sit through a dinner with the politicians.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, a small, twisted smile on his face. “Not at all.”

“Most of us will be leaving directly after the parade tomorrow,” Master Windu said. “Master Ti and Master Piell will remain to investigate the Sith and oversee the MediCorps operations here. I’ve spoken to the Healers, and Qui-Gon is stable enough for hyperspace. We’re bringing you three with us.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Master Windu said, looking somewhat exasperated and just the slightest bit annoyed. “The footage from the reactor room was leaked.”

“... _what_?” Obi-Wan asked, color draining from his face. “I… how many people have seen it?”

“The entire Temple, I expect,” Master Windu sighed, and Obi-Wan groaned, scrubbing one hand over his face.

“Fantastic.” He shook his head, dropping the hand, and stood up. “I need to go meditate. Or… do some katas. _Something_. I’ll see you all for dinner. Mind the Masters, Ani.”

“I will,” Anakin said, even as he blinked in confusion. Once Obi-Wan was out of the room, he turned to look at Master Windu, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Obi-Wan doesn’t much care for attention,” Master Windu said. “He’s surprisingly… shy. There were security cameras in the reactor room where the fight with the Sith took place, and he transmitted them to the Council. Some other Jedi got their hands on the video and passed it around. Now everyone knows he killed a Sith, and they’re going to be… well, Obi-Wan is going to receive a _lot_ of attention when we return.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. He didn’t really understand that--when he’d heard everyone cheering for him, after he won the Boonta Eve race, it had felt _amazing_ . It felt so _good_ , having everyone else see that he was _worth something_ , that he could actually _do_ something. He couldn’t really imagine not liking that feeling. “That’s silly. He deserves to have everyone know what a good job he did.”

“That may be, but he doesn’t seem to agree,” Master Windu sighed, shaking his head. “I’m going to go speak to Master Ti and the Queen. The two of you will be alright?” Anakin nodded, and Master Dooku hummed wordlessly, though he’d opened his eyes and turned to look at Master Windu, who nodded once and turned to leave.

Then they were alone, and Master Dooku was staring intently at Anakin, and he squirmed.

“Um, hi.”

Master Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Greetings, Initiate.”

“So, um… you were Master Qui-Gon’s Master?” he asked, and Master Dooku nodded slowly. “That’s good. It’s nice, I mean, that you came to help when he isn’t doing so well. I mean, he’s doing really well, getting better and all, but he’s still really hurt. It’s… nice. That you’re here.” Master Dooku simply continued to stare at him, one eyebrow raised, blinking slowly, and Anakin blushed. “Master Qui-Gon’s happy, too, I think.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. When he’s alone, the Force feels kinda like… a really strong wind, the kind that comes right before a standstorm,” Anakin said, frowning thoughtfully, choosing his words with care, “but when people he cares about are around, it’s more like a nice breeze.”

“I see,” Master Dooku said, and then he chuckled dryly. “It is somewhat surprising that I am counted among them.”

“Why?”

“We do not get along very well,” Master Dooku said, and there was something sad in his voice, something like regret? “We have hardly spoken, the past… oh, eight years.”

“Why not?” Anakin asked. “I just… you care about him a lot. You came right to him when you heard he was hurt, didn’t you?” Master Dooku nodded once. “And he’s calmer with you here. So you must really care about each other, even if you fight sometimes. Like family. Even when my mom would scold me, I always know she loves me.”

Master Dooku’s lips twitched in a barely-there smile, and he shook his head. “Would that we all had your wisdom, young one.”

“Is that why Obi-Wan was kinda upset when he saw you? ‘Cause he knows you don’t get along with Master Qui-Gon?” Anakin asked, and Master Dooku’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment before his expression went neutrally blank again.

“Perhaps,” Master Dooku said. “I had not had the pleasure of meeting my Grand-Padawan until today. Qui-Gon and I… stopped seeing one another before he claimed Obi-Wan as his Padawan.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. “No wonder he was nervous.”

“Indeed,” Master Dooku said blandly.

“But maybe the Force did this on purpose,” Anakin said thoughtfully. “That’s what Obi-Wan says, anyway, that everything is the will of the Force. So… I mean, it’s not good that Master Qui-Gon got hurt, and I’m sorry he’s not okay right now, but he will be, later. But he’s gonna need our help until he’s better, right?” Anakin shrugged. “Maybe that was meant to happen, so that you two would be back together again.”

“‘Whatever happens is the will of the Force,’” Master Dooku replied, and Anakin nodded.

“Yeah! That’s exactly how Obi-Wan says it.”

“It is a phrase I learned from my own Master, and passed down to Qui-Gon,” Master Dooku said. “It is gratifying to hear he has not abandoned _all_ of my teachings.”

Anakin didn’t really know what he meant by that, but Master Dooku wasn’t sitting quite so stiffly anymore, and he counted the conversation as a success.

* * *

Anakin ate dinner with the four other Jedi in Master Qui-Gon’s room, conversation dominated by Master Ti and Master Windu, going over the plans for Naboo.

Now that the other Jedi were here, Obi-Wan seemed… relieved, but also _tired_. As soon as he was finished with his food, Anakin set the tray on the table in the corner and hurried back to the bed, snuggling into Obi-Wan’s side, subtly trying to suggest that they sleep. Obi-Wan lifted his arm to wrap it around Anakin, giving him a small smile, before turning back to the conversation at hand.

As soon as there was a lull, Obi-Wan asked, “Masters, when is the other ship due to arrive?”

“In… a little less than an hour,” Master Windu answered after checking the chrono.

“Um, Masters?” Anakin said, trying to force himself not to look down as he spoke. “I know that usually we’d all go meet them, like Obi-Wan and I came to meet you all, but we were up late last night--there was a storm, it was _so wizard_ , I’d never seen anything like it! ...but, uh, anyway, I think we’re both really tired. Can we please be excused this time?”

Master Windu smiled, and Master Ti laughed, a strange, musical trill. Anakin blinked at the sound. He’d _seen_ a Togruta before, in Mos Espa, but he’d never actually _talked_ to one, let alone heard them laugh. It was… nice.

“Yes, you two may be excused,” Master Windu said, and Anakin got the feeling it was a near thing that he didn’t roll his eyes. “We’ll all be meeting with the Queen over breakfast tomorrow, to discuss the celebration.”

“Of course, Masters. Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, squeezing Anakin just a bit. Anakin beamed.

“Thank you, Masters!” he echoed.

“You’re quite welcome, little one,” Master Ti said, and she felt so _warm_ , like Obi-Wan. Anakin smiled a bit more shyly at her, deciding that he thought he liked her. “Be sure to sleep tonight, and not stay up too late. We all have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master Ti.”

She gave him a gentle smile, carefully not displaying her pointed teeth, and nodded as she and Master Windu left. Master Dooku reached down, beginning to pull off his boots and unfastening his cape, draping it carefully over the back of the chair as he rose and made his way to the third bed.

“Goodnight, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured as they settled down. After a brief pause, he added, “Goodnight, Grand-Master.”

There was no reply, but Anakin felt the spike of pleasure from the man at hearing the title, and he smiled. Everything was _definitely_ going to be alright. He just knew it. And Obi-Wan had said so, and Anakin was starting to think that Obi-Wan knew _everything_.

The Force sang of happiness and comfort, and Obi-Wan was so warm where Anakin was still just a bit too cold, not used to anything but the sweltering heat of two suns, and he sighed and burrowed his way a little deeper into the blankets, pressing more firmly against Obi-Wan, and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

* * *

Breakfast was _busy_ the next morning. The large, airy room near the kitchen where the table had, in the days before, seemed hilariously too-large for those seated at it, but not with eight Jedi--including _Anakin_ , and that still sent a little thrill down his spine--and Padme, and her handmaidens.

“The Chancellor and Senator couldn’t make it?” Obi-Wan asked Padme. She shook her head, giving him a small, sly smile.

“Chancellor Antilles and Senator Palpatine are dining with Sabe and my advisors this morning,” she said, and Obi-Wan blinked, and then laughed.

“Of course, young handmaiden,” he said, bowing his head, grinning wickedly. “Thank you for informing me of the Queen’s whereabouts, and that of your other esteemed guests.”

Padme and several of the other handmaidens giggled.

Anakin smiled, and then turned to the Master across from him. He looked… strange. Anakin had first seen him in the Council chamber, but the _tentacle_ things on his head were still… interesting.

“Um, hi, Master,” Anakin said. “I don’t think we’ve actually met. Well, not really, but I did see you with the rest of the Council on Coruscant.”

The man smiled, broad and easy, and he dipped his head. “Kit Fisto, Initiate Skywalker. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“You too,” Anakin said, smiling back. Now that they weren’t all acting official and stiff, it seemed like all the Council Masters were… nicer. Well, except maybe Master Piell. He looked like his face got stuck frowning years ago. Obi-Wan elbowed his ribs.

“I heard that.”

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered before turning back to Master Fisto, who was now looking at them with benign amusement. “Are you from a water planet?”

“I am. My homeworld is Glee Anselm, an ocean planet.”

“Woah,” Anakin said, eyes going wide. “I thought Naboo has a lot of water, but your _entire planet_ is ocean?”

Master Fisto grinned. “Yes, and I’m sure that’s a bit of a shock to you, considering you came from one of the driest planets there is.”

“I’ll say,” Anakin said, blinking, and then smiling at him. “What’s it like there?”

“Well, I imagine it’s much like the Gungan society here on Naboo. The cities are enclosed in domes, underneath the water…”

* * *

“Are you certain I can’t be permitted to remain here with Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan asked, and even Anakin rolled his eyes.

“No, you cannot,” Master Windu sighed, clearly exasperated. “You know how these things go, Obi-Wan. Stand on a podium, look official, smile serenely, and then we can leave. It will be _fine_.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan sighed, tugging on his braid. “It’s simply that…” His eyes darted to Anakin, and then back to Mace.

“I understand,” Master Windu said, more gently than before. “But we have no choice. We’ll spend maybe… twenty minutes in their company, if that. It will be _fine_.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan repeated. He nodded once, straightening the formal tunics Master Windu had brought him. Anakin kind of liked them--they were practical, if he wasn’t wearing the cloak (and _how_ the rest of the Jedi got anything done with those big sleeves always flapping around their hands, Anakin didn’t know) and softer than anything else he’d ever worn before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the haircut they’d given him, though. He felt… weird with his hair so short.

“Let’s go, then,” Obi-Wan finally sighed, managing a smile for them. “Before I change my mind.”

As they left Master Qui-Gon’s room to meet all of the others, Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and tugged on him a little to slow him down, just enough to let Master Windu get ahead a few steps.

“What’s wrong, Obi?”

“Nothing, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, and then he frowned. “Well, I hope it’s nothing. Just a… bad feeling.”

“About a person?” Obi-Wan hummed noncommittally. “Obi, remember how you thought _I_ was Dark, too? It’s probably nothing.”

Obi-Wan paused, and then sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to convince myself of,” he agreed. “But even so, it is always a good policy to be on guard around politicians. And we’ll be _surrounded_ by them today.”

“Can I do anything to make you feel better about it?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan stopped still and then looked down at him, giving him one of the happiest _and_ saddest smiles Anakin had ever seen.

“That’s very thoughtful of you to ask, Ani,” he said softly, like he was choked up. “There is, actually, something you could do. Can you stick close to me or one of the Masters today?”

“Sure, that’s easy,” Anakin agreed, nodding.

“Thank you. That takes a weight off of my mind,” Obi-Wan said, his smile becoming just a bit less sad. “Well, let’s go. We mustn’t keep Her Highness waiting.”

* * *

The parade was absolutely beautiful. There were Gungans and Naboo _everywhere_ , cheering happily, and the Gungans marching were playing something upbeat on their big war drums and playing horns. Flower petals were floating around everywhere he looked, thrown by smiling children, and streamers were being waved. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the happiness feedback-loop he was getting from the Force, feeling everyone else so happy _around_ him, or if he was just that _happy_.

All too soon, Padme handed the Globe of Peace to Boss Nass, and the parade was over. The large group on the platform began to break up, and Anakin immediately noticed when Obi-Wan tensed. He looked up at him, but Obi-Wan was staring at an older man coming towards them, wearing fancy clothes.

 _Politicians_ , Anakin thought to himself. He thought he recognized him, an older guy with hair that was nearly all-white and a smile that looked relieved and joyful, just like the rest of the Naboo.

“Ah, Padawan Kenobi and Initiate Skywalker,” the older man said. “It is such a pleasure to meet the two of you. I am Sheev Palpatine, the Senate representative for Naboo. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to the both of you for your heroic actions in defense of our people.”

“We come to serve,” Anakin blurted out before he could think about it. The hand Obi-Wan had on his shoulder tensed slightly, but not too tight. The Senator blinked at him and then laughed.

“Quite so, Initiate. Still, you have our deepest thanks.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Initiate Skywalker is correct, Senator. We were glad to be of service.”

“Still, I saw the footage of the reactor room,” Senator Palpatine said, a frown forming on his face. “You placed yourself in grave danger to help us. Defeating such a man is no small feat.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was a bit toothier than Anakin usually saw from him, and he could tell Obi-Wan was still uncomfortable. Still, he kept his tone polite when he said, “It was my duty, Senator. I am a Jedi, and it is our obligation to stand against Darkness wherever it may present itself. I am only glad that the Force granted me the strength to end the fight he began.”

“And save your Master’s life, I hear,” Senator Palpatine said, sounding admiring. “You are very talented. I daresay not many _Padawans_ would have been able to withstand what you went through. Forgive me if this is too forward a question, but why has the Council not seen fit to Knight you?”

“The offer was made,” Obi-Wan answered casually. “I deferred, for the moment. That honor shall go to my Master, when he is once again in good health.”

“How very kind of you,” Senator Palpatine said, smiling gently again. “I’m certain he will be most proud.” He turned to Anakin then, and Anakin tried not to squirm. “And you, young Skywalker. That was a very impressive feat of your own, with the droid control ship. I will be watching both of your careers with great interest.”

Anakin flushed. “Um, thank you, Senator.”

“You are too kind,” Obi-Wan added for him. “I’m afraid we must go now. We are preparing to return to Coruscant in a few hours.”

Senator Palpatine looked surprised. “Leaving? So soon?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Obi-Wan sighed, making a convincing show of being genuinely sorry for it, even though Anakin knew how much Obi-Wan just wanted to go back to the Temple, despite the fact that everybody was going to be talking about him there. “Of course, Master Ti and Master Piell will remain here, to coordinate the rebuilding efforts and the MediCorps relief.”

“Of course,” repeated Senator Palpatine. “Well, I am grateful for the Order’s continued assistance, and for both of you.”

“May the Force be with us,” Obi-Wan said, bowing. Anakin bowed as well, a little smoother, now that he’d practiced so much.

“Yes, may it be.” Palpatine reached out and patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “May it be with us.”

* * *

They were stopped once again, inside the halls, this time by someone Anakin didn’t recognize. He was older than Master Qui-Gon, probably, but not as old as Senator Palpatine, his hair only just starting to go grey. His smile was easier than Palpatine’s, but no less happy.

“Chancellor Antilles,” Obi-Wan greeted him, and this time he and Anakin bowed in unison. Obi-Wan sent him a little flicker of amused pride, and Anakin smiled.

“Padawan Kenobi, it’s good to see you,” the Chancellor said. “Bail Organa speaks quite highly of you. He was quite worried, when we first heard the news that a Jedi had been injured. He was quite glad to hear that you are well, and that your Master will recover. He did ask me to pass on his regards.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, smiling more genuinely now than he had at Senator Palpatine. “That is quite kind of you to say.”

The Chancellor nodded, glancing down at Anakin. “And I suppose you are the young one who won the Boonta Eve race and destroyed the Federation control ship?”

“Ah, yes, sir.”

When Chancellor Antilles smiled at him, it was amused and thoughtful, not… not quite like Senator Palpatine’s. Anakin didn’t know what that meant, but Obi-Wan seemed more at ease around this man than he had Senator Palpatine, and he tentatively decided the Chancellor wasn’t so bad. He smiled back.

“That’s quite impressive. I’m glad you’ve found your place among the Jedi Order,” Chancellor Antilles said, and Anakin nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

He nodded once and turned back to Obi-Wan. “I had come partly to hear the full account of events for myself, from Master Windu. Now I had realized that, naturally, certain details would be held back from the public. But I found some suspicions more disturbing than others.” The Chancellor shook his head and sighed. “I would only ask that you remember that Alderaan has long been a friend to the Order. I feel we may need such bonds in the coming years.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, his smile gaining a sad but hopeful quality. “Thank you, Chancellor Antilles. We will remember it.”

The Chancellor nodded and smiled at them both before taking his leave. Once he was out of hearing range, Anakin pulled at Obi-Wan’s hand.

“What did he mean? What details?”

“The Order hasn’t confirmed to the public whether it was truly a Sith involved here on Naboo or not,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“But you think it was.”

“I _know_ that it was.”

“So why aren’t we telling people? Warning them?”

Obi-Wan paused, and then he sighed. “We’re playing a very long game, Anakin. The Sith have been hiding from us for a thousand years, completely undetected. Now that they have made a move, and _potentially_ revealed themselves, the Council feels that it may be better to deny that it was truly a _Sith Lord_ and excuse it away as an errant Darkside user. This may be enough to keep the Sith from realizing that we now know the truth, and may convince them to proceed with their plans, rather than go back into hiding.”

“Because if they hide, you don’t think you can catch them?”

“No, Ani. I don’t think so. How else would they have been able to hide for _one thousand years_ if they did not have somewhere they could go, something they could do, to remain hidden from us?” Obi-Wan sighed. “But it may not be that easy. The footage was leaked already of our fight, and it will not stay contained to the Order alone for long. We may be forced to admit that it was a Sith, and simply pray to the Force that it does not push them into hiding.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. “That’s… complicated.”

Obi-Wan laughed, a bit hoarse. “It is. But you needn’t concern yourself with all of that yet. Your only job right now is to continue focusing on learning.”

“Right,” Anakin sighed. “I’m not much help when I can’t even read Basic yet.”

“Oh, hush, Ani,” Obi-Wan sighed, ruffling his hair. “I’d say Jinto thought you were quite helpful. And all of the Naboo. One day, you’ll be in the thick of it right there beside me, and I’ll be glad to have you, whether it is as a Knight or a pilot.”

“Really?” Anakin asked, peering up at him hopefully. Obi-Wan smiled, only the barest hint of sadness marring the expression.

“Really,” he murmured. “Now, we’d better get going, if we’re going to have time to say goodbye to the Queen before we leave.”

* * *

Approaching the Jedi Temple wasn’t the same, the second time around. Before, Anakin had felt like he was just dreaming, like he would wake up and still be on Tatooine, still a slave, dreaming of becoming a Jedi and returning to free the rest of the Amavikka. Everything had had a sort of… faraway quality to it.

But this time, Anakin knew he was looking at his new _home_ , and he drank it in with wide eyes, practically vibrating with excitement. It was only thanks to Obi-Wan’s staying hand on his shoulder that Anakin wasn’t up out of his seat, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

The moment the shuttle docked in the Temple landing bays, Anakin wanted to rush out and _really_ start his new life, but he knew they had to get Master Qui-Gon out first. He waited beside Obi-Wan as Master Windu and Master Dooku moved Qui-Gon’s repulsorlift bed off of the ship, and then he immediately followed, Obi-Wan just behind him.

Anakin immediately stopped, watching as an unfamiliar Twi’lek Jedi bent over Master Qui-Gon, and another woman sprinted toward him and Obi-Wan. Anakin’s eyes were wide--he’d never seen anything like her before: pink skin, large eyes, no hair at all, and a larger head than humans had. If Anakin had to guess, he’d say she was from a water planet, like Master Fisto.

“Obi!” she cried as she got close to them, and then she was throwing herself at Obi-Wan, wrapping her arms around him. Anakin noticed that her fingers were webbed and patted himself on the back for his guess. “We were so worried about you!”

“I’m alright, Bant,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I promise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, releasing him and stepping back. “I’ve been assigned to look you over.” She turned to Anakin. “And I’m told a certain Initiate needs his intake check.” She bowed, smiling gently at him. “Padawan Bant Eerin.”

Anakin bowed back. “Um, I’m Initiate Anakin Skywalker.”

“It’s very good to meet you,” she said. “It will take Master Che a while to get master Qui-Gon settled and looked at. More than enough time, I’m sure, for the full panels she requested on the two of you.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged _looks_ , and Anakin thought he was starting to understand why Obi-Wan had called the Healer’s care on Naboo “torture.”

* * *

“Now, who’d like to go first?”

Anakin looked frantically at Obi-Wan, who sighed.

“I suppose I’ll volunteer.”

“Wonderful. Anakin, why don’t you have a seat out here?” Padawan Bant gestured to one of the comfortable-looking chairs in the hallway, and Anakin tensed.

“It’s alright, Bant. He can come in--if you’d like, Ani?”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed easily, and Obi-Wan smiled gently at him. Bant nodded slowly and led them into the examination room.

It looked… calm, but cheerful. The walls were a bright shade of blue, and there were very pretty, shiny mosaic tiles on the floor in a sunburst pattern. A bed was in the center of the room, with cabinets on one wall and two chairs. Anakin hopped up into one of the chairs while Obi-Wan went to sit on the bed.

“None of that, Obi,” Bant said, shaking her head. “Tunics off.”

Obi-Wan sighed and stood again, removing the belt, obi, tabards, and tunics just as he had on Naboo, laying them down neatly on one side of the bed. Bant had turned around towards the cabinets to dig out a few instruments, and she made a strangled noise as she turned around.

“Obi-Wan, what _happened_?” She walked over and peered intently at the scar wrapping around Obi-Wan’s body at his collarbone. Obi-Wan just sighed.

“It’s a long story, Bant,” he said. “But it’s an old wound. Nothing to be worried about.”

“I… that looks like a _lightsaber_ burn scar,” she whispered.

“It is,” Obi-Wan said flatly, “but I’m not to talk about it.”

Bant looked up sharply, meeting his gaze, her large eyes narrowing. “Council’s orders?”

“Council’s orders,” Obi-Wan confirmed with a shrug. “But really, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt, and my range of motion is unchanged.”

Bant nodded slowly. “I’ll accept that for now, but I’m sure Master Che will want an explanation. Not even the Council has the power to deny the Chief Healer that clearance, when she deems it necessary. And looking at _that_ , I’d say it’s necessary.” She sighed. “Now, which arm got hit?” Obi-Wan held out his right arm for her to see, and she slowly took the bandage off, revealing a new scar, bright pink, just beginning to heal. “It’s healing well. At least they forced you to take good care of it.” She grabbed one of Obi-Wan’s hands and pricked his finger. “I’ll just run a full scan and then we’ll be done. See how painless this is when you actually tell us what’s wrong and give your injuries proper care?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Of course, Healer Eerin.” Bant giggled and turned away, reaching for another instrument, running it up and down in front of Obi-Wan before nodding.

“You told the truth for once,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice and a smile on her face. “You actually are fine. Well, besides being a bit too thin again. You know how Master Che gets when you don’t eat, Obi.”

Obi-Wan huffed and turned to Anakin, standing up and beginning to put his clothes back on. “It’s your turn now.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, feeling much better after seeing how easy it was for Obi-Wan.

“Same thing, squirt. Shirt off, please,” Bant ordered gently, and Anakin nodded, Obi-Wan helping him to remove the obi and tabards when he struggled a bit. He hopped up on the bed and swung his feet back and forth. “Now, were you hurt at all while you were off on your adventures?”

“I had a couple bruises, but nothing bad. They went away after a couple days on their own,” Anakin said, shrugging. Bant nodded, but her smile became a bit brittle then, and Anakin frowned.

“I understand that before you were brought to us, you were a slave,” she said, voice gentle, not judging. Anakin nodded. “Did you have an implant?”

“Yeah, but Obi-Wan made sure they took it out on Naboo,” Anakin said. Bant’s smile turned relieved, then, and she turned to nod at Obi-Wan.

“That’s very good,” she said. “Now, I’m just going to use this scanner on you, take a little blood sample, and then we’ll be all done, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Anakin felt a little funny when she ran the scanner on him, like his bones were tingling, but it didn’t hurt. The single prick at his finger felt like just a pinch, and then it was over.

“Thank you, Anankin. You were very patient for me,” Bant said, smiling at him again. Anakin smiled back and nodded, moving to put his clothes back on. He was getting _cold_ again. “You two can wait in here or in the hall if you like. I’m just going to run these samples, and then Master Qui-Gon should be settled, and I can take you to him.”

“We’ll wait in here, thank you,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Bant gave him a knowing look.

“You can’t hide from everyone forever, Obi,” she sighed. “You’ll just have to face being the Temple’s new celebrity, at some point.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged. “I know. But I’d at least like to get one decent night of sleep in my own bed before I have to think about it.”

Bant nodded sympathetically and left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Anakin pushed his way onto Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around Anakin, the two of them sitting there in companionable silence. Obi-Wan was as warm as always, and the chill left Anakin quickly.

* * *

Master Qui-Gon’s room was different from the room on Naboo. He was no longer hooked up to any machines, a scanner in the bed ensuring the Healers would be alerted of any changes in his condition, and the room itself was brighter, happier in the Force. The walls were green, and there were plants sitting in the windowsill. Anakin felt like Master Qui-Gon would appreciate them, when he woke up.

Once Obi-Wan and Anakin had made sure that Master Qui-Gon was all settled in, Obi-Wan offered to take Anakin down to the creche. The walk there felt like it took forever, and Obi-Wan sheepishly admitted that he was taking the long way, to try to avoid running into anyone. They were mostly successful, although the few other Jedi they did see did nothing more than stare at them as they walked by, even as Obi-Wan paused to bow to each of them before moving on. Anakin stuck close to his side, holding his hand tightly as Obi-Wan led him through the halls.

If he thought it was easy to get lost in the Queen’s palace on Naboo, he was _really_ going to get lost in the Temple. If only he could’ve brought R2 with him…

“Well, Ani, are you ready?” Obi-Wan asked, standing before a set of large double doors. Anakin took a deep breath and nodded. Obi-Wan smiled and pushed one of the doors open.

Inside, it was pure _chaos_. The room was _huge_ , and brightly colored in blues and greens with little yellow constellations painted on the walls, model ships flying around the ceiling, and the walls punctuated by other doors in neat rows. And _everywhere_ , there were other children, laughing and playing and all talking at once.

And in the Force, it was… so _loud_. Anakin dropped Obi-Wan’s hand, covered his ears, and closed his eyes, even though he knew that wouldn’t really help, but the motion made him feel better. Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder gently.

 _Shields, Ani,_ his mental voice came. _Remember what I taught you._

Anakin took a shaky breath and tried to concentrate on the rolling golden yellow dunes of Tatooine, stretching out between his mind and all of the other Force sensitives around him. He could still see them, far off in the distance, but it was… muted. Bearable. He slowly put his hands down and opened his eyes. It didn’t seem like any of the children had noticed, but a _Wookie_ , and actual, real life _Wookie_ was coming towards them.

“Padawan Kenobi, how good to see you again!” she called. Obi-Wan caught sight of the toddler settled on her hip, playing with a block with brightly colored Aurebesh letters on it, and smiled.

“Hello, Master Tyyyvak,” Obi-Wan returned, bowing. She nodded, and then looked down at Anakin.

“And who is this, then?”

“Um, I’m Anakin Skywalker, Master.”

“Of course! You must be the new Initiate. Please come in, we’ll introduce you and get you all settled.” She unceremoniously handed the toddler off to Obi-Wan, who smiled down at the little Zabrak boy now blinking up at him shyly. “ _Younglings! Younglings, attention please!_ ”

The response to her quiet, Shyriiwook roar was immediate: all activity simply _stopped_ . The model ships stopped flying, falling to the carpeted floor with a quiet clatter--and Anakin realized distantly that it had been _them_ doing that, not the ships flying on their own, they had been using the _Force_ to control them, that was _so wizard_ \--and they turned as one to face the Master.

“Thank you, younglings. We have a new Initiate joining us today. Would you please all welcome Anakin Skywalker?”

As one, forty-odd sets of children bowed in perfect, slightly unsettling unison, and their voices rang out together, “We welcome you home, Anakin!”

That phrase brought an unexpected _tug_ behind his eyes and Anakin quickly blinked the tears away, bowing back. He was glad, then, for the practice he’d had on Naboo, and the motion was far smoother than it had been before.

“Thank you,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. He could feel Obi-Wan gently pulsing calm-reassurance-comfort-happiness, and Anakin took a deep breath.

“Bear Clan, come here, please,” Master Tyyyvak said, and six children of various ages and species stepped forward. Ranging from toddlers to a couple of boys who looked a couple of years older than Anakin, they were all more or less near-human. “Anakin is going to be joining your Clan. Will you show him around and introduce him to the other Initiates?”

“Of course!” a girl with chin-length dark hair with a shock of white bangs and dots on her face said, smiling warmly at Anakin. “It’s felt too quiet without Farek. He got Chosen last week to be a Padawan! I’m happy for him, but it feels a little too empty without him in our dorm.”

“Dorm?” Anakin repeated, blinking at her. The girl nodded excitedly.

“Why don’t we all go show him where Bear Clan sleeps, and then we’ll introduce him to everybody?” a grey-skinned boy with dark hair and red eyes suggested. The other Initiates nodded, and several of the older ones took the hands of the few toddlers with them.

The girl stuck her hand out to Anakin. “I’m Sian Jeisel.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anakin said, smiling back. He took her hand, and she shook it briefly before shifting her grip to start tugging him along after the other Initiates. Anakin resisted for just long enough to look back at Obi-Wan, who was giving him a gentle, encouraging smile.

 _I’ll come fetch you tomorrow to visit Master Qui-Gon,_ Obi-Wan promised, and Anakin nodded and finally let Sian drag him down yet another hallway, toward his new life and a fresh start.


	2. Qui-Gon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have seen in the comments, but updates are going to be changing to Mondays now, and you know what that means...
> 
> Double update! Chapter 3 will be posted on April 20th. After that, I'll be going back to weekly updates.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos! I've written a lot, but this is my first fanfiction, and you all have really boosted my confidence!

Wakefulness was irritatingly  _ difficult _ to grasp. Qui-Gon struggled against the thick-slow quality to his thoughts and his body, trying to beat back the kind of exhaustion that only came from injury and sedation. He felt nothing below his chest except for a prickling cold sensation, and he wondered idly if his lower half were even still attached. The thought did not alarm him in the slightest, and his lips twitched in a hazy smile. They must be giving him the really,  _ really _ good drugs.

“--think he’s awake!” Qui-Gon heard. As though a switch had been flipped,  _ sound _ returned to his world, and he heard murmuring, far-off voices, the scrape of something being moved against a hard floor, and overlaying it all, a too-familiar, rhythmic,  _ infernal _ beeping.

“--off,” Qui-Gon rasped, and he suddenly became aware of how  _ dry _ his mouth was.

“Here,” a familiar voice said, low and soft, and then something delightfully cool was being pressed against his lips. He parted them slightly--ice chips. He rumbled a contented noise and accepted several more.

“Turn…  _ off _ ,” Qui-Gon said when he was surer of his voice and the cup of ice had disappeared.

“Turn what off?” another voice asked, a very small, young voice. Still familiar, but not quite enough to place through the haze.

“The monitor,” another familiar, deep voice said. So familiar, but distant, as though he hadn’t heard it for a very long time. The very sound of it somehow irritated and pleased Qui-Gon at the same time. “He has always detested them.”

The beeping stopped, and Qui-Gon hummed again in thanks. He felt large, long fingers, carding gently through his hair.

“Rest, Padawan,” the voice attached to that hand said, and finally,  _ finally _ , Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open.

At first, he was greeted only by a bright,  _ bright _ light, and then it swirled, turning from  _ pure white _ to a  _ mottled-swirling-indigo-dark grey-sharp-edged violet-hued red _ . Within the miasma, Qui-Gon recognized the familiar, nearly-unchanging form of Yan Dooku, staring down at him with all of his usual intensity and none of his usual derision, replaced only by grave concern.

“Pad’wan,” Qui-Gon slurred. “Obi--”

“Obi-Wan is well,” Yan assured him gently, and Qui-Gon felt-heard-saw a rush of  _ green-blue-yellow _ whispering to him  **_all will be well_ ** before it drifted by like water. “He is with Master Windu, now. We did not expect you to awaken so soon after we returned.”

Obi-Wan was fine. The news eased a hard knot of tension in Qui-Gon’s sternum that he hadn’t realized was there, and he let out a  _ whoosh _ of breath that came out as a wheeze.

“Ani…?”

“I’m here, Master Qui-Gon, sir!” the young voice called, brilliantly  _ peach-pink _ with joy. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched.

“Everyone is well, Padawan mine,” Yan said soothingly. “The Queen and the rest of the Naboo are well. The Gungans achieved their victory. You managed to live through an encounter with the Sith, and we are all back in the Temple. It was quite the success, overall.”

The words were full of  _ silky purple  _ pride and Qui-Gon could only blink in surprise, the distant pleasure that everyone was alright overtaken by his near-shock at such unbridled praise from Yan. His former Master merely gave him a small but indulgent smile and ran his hand again through Qui-Gon’s hair.

“You must rest, now,” Yan said. Qui-Gon had barely enough time to recognize the Force suggestion before he was carried off back to the black.

* * *

The next time Qui-Gon woke was easier. His eyes fluttered open to the peaceful  _ dark cerulean-black-shimmering-silver-white _ of nighttime and was immediately aware of the familiar  _ blue-green-silver _ presence nearby. He turned his head to look over at Obi-Wan. He was perched in a chair beside the bed, legs folded beneath him, frowning thoughtfully at a datapad. He looked well enough, if getting thin, and a bit pale. His hair had started to grow out of the Padawan cut, becoming a bit shaggy, but... 

“Still there,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan’s head jerked up. Immediately, a  _ golden  _ smile, joyful and broad, crossed his face, and he set the ‘pad down on the bedside table, reaching for Qui-Gon’s hand, holding it in both of his.

“Master,” he said, and Qui-Gon tried to smile back. He  _ was _ happy, of course he was--he remembered what had happened Before, on Naboo, and to see Obi-Wan whole and  _ here _ was more than enough to bring him joy. But with the drugs he was on, Qui-Gon wasn’t quite sure  _ what _ his face was doing.

“Still there,” he repeated, and gently shook off Obi-Wan’s hands to reach out and touch the braid falling over his shoulder. “Would’ve thought…”

Obi-Wan laughed, a bright  _ golden-and-pink  _ pleased sound. “They offered,” Obi-Wan answered softly. “But I would not let them take that honor from you, Master mine. I have been content to wait.”

Obi-Wan’s image became blurry, and it took Qui-Gon a moment to realize that that was because his eyes had filled with tears. His heart thrummed with  _ deep purple  _ pride, the echo of his own Master’s, and he  _ knew _ then that he was smiling.

“So proud of you, my Knight,” Qui-Gon muttered, his eyes already sliding shut again. Obi-Wan’s hands returned to his and squeezed gently. If Obi-Wan replied, Qui-Gon was asleep before he could hear it.

* * *

The third time Qui-Gon woke, it felt more natural. He could tell they had tapered down on the medication, and he was grateful for the clarity, if not the renewed ability to feel the dull, persistent  _ red-and-brown like dried blood  _ ache in his abdomen. He did not try to sit up, but he did open his eyes, feeling the  _ soothing, vibrant green _ presence of Vokara Che. She smiled down at him warmly as he opened his eyes.

“Welcome back.”

“Vokara,” he rasped, and this time he knew he was able to smile the first time he tried. She was quick to give him more ice chips, and this time he was even able to use his hands to tip the cup of them into his mouth ever so slowly, though he noted they were shaking badly.

“You are a very stubborn man, Qui-Gon,” she said,  _ brilliant shimmering lavender  _ fond. “With a very stubborn Padawan.”

“He is,” Qui-Gon agreed, smile growing.

“It’s only thanks to his stubbornness that you survived that,” Vokara said flatly. “I swear, if I had seen that boy right after it happened, you  _ both _ would have been in my Halls for  _ weeks _ , if not  _ months _ . The kind of advanced Force healing he did… well, ideally it shouldn’t be done without training, but I’m glad he did.” They both paused, thinking of how close Qui-Gon had come this time to becoming One with the Force, and then they both released the thought. “How do you feel?”

“Relatively well,” Qui-Gon answered honestly, “though I imagine it will be a while before I try to sit up on my own.”

Vokara laughed. “At last, I get the feeling that you’re going to agree to my restrictions. Now, you know the drill. Standard questions. Name?”

“Well, you’ve been calling me Qui-Gon,” he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes.

“A typical Jinn answer, at least,” she muttered. “Year?”

Qui-Gon frowned at her. “How long was I out?”

Vokara smirked. “Not  _ that _ long. It was only four weeks.”

“968, then.”

“Very good. Current Chancellor?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at her. “Trick questions? Not playing fair, are you, Vokara?” She frowned back at him, and he sighed. “Last I recall, the Senate was about to hold an election.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’ll give you that one, then. The current Chancellor is Bail Antilles of Alderaan.”

Qui-Gon was moderately pleased by the news. Finis Valorum had been a true friend to the Jedi, and his unfair and unjustified ousting rankled, a bit; but Alderaan was also historically supportive of the Order, and Obi-Wan had always spoken well of the man’s heir apparent, Bail Organa, which was promising. It was less awful news than it could have been, all told.

“Now, how bad would you say the pain is?” Vokara asked, and Qui-Gon frowned thoughtfully, closing his eyes to turn his focus inward. The  _ red-and-brown  _ ache was… not insignificant, but not sharp and needling, either.

“Tolerable,” Qui-Gon answered. “I suspect if I tried to move much, it would not be so. But for now, it is fine.”

Vokara nodded. “Well, you seem to be in as much of your right mind as you ever were,” she teased lightly, and Qui-Gon grinned at her. “Master Windu would like to see you as soon as you’re able. Tomorrow?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, and she began to frown, but he cut her off gently, “I have many questions, and I do not know that I will rest easy until I hear the answers.” She sighed but nodded grudgingly.

“I’ll send for him.”

* * *

The familiar  _ swirling-purple-edged-edged-with-red _ feeling of Mace was a comfort to Qui-Gon, and the sheer  _ bright green  _ relief he radiated was touching. Qui-Gon smiled as he entered, waving a hand.

“Please don’t think me impolite if I do not sit up to greet you,” Qui-Gon said loftily, and Mace barked a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re still  _ you _ ,” he said and sank down unceremoniously into the chair Obi-Wan had occupied earlier.

“The Council would like my report, I take it?” Qui-Gon asked, and Mace shrugged.

“Not yet,” he said. “We have plenty, for now, between Obi-Wan’s statement and the footage. But we aren’t supposed to speak of the battle, yet.”

“Oh?”

“Master Che’s orders,” Mace explained. “She warned me rather vehemently against upsetting you.”

Qui-Gon scowled. “I may be injured, but I am not a delicate flower.”

Mace snorted. “No, that you’re not. Nevertheless, I have no desire to be on the receiving end of her wrath,” he sighed. “That can wait. We may, however, speak about the aftermath of everything. I understand you have many questions.”

Qui-Gon nodded, as much as he could, lying down. “Obi-Wan told me that the Council wanted to Knight him.”

“Killing a Sith used to grant the rank of  _ Master _ , during the old wars,” Mace said slowly. “Of course we’re going to Knight him. But he requested that we wait until you could be there, and the Council accepted his decision. Despite how often you manage to be a pain in the ass for all of us, we are rather fond of you.”

Qui-Gon smiled. He could feel the honesty of what his friend said, the  _ shimmering purple  _ affection they held for him. He may have disagreed with the Council--vehemently and often--but he had never doubted his place among his fellow Jedi.

“And Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked. “He was here, in the Temple.”

“He still is,” Mace said. “Obi-Wan has brought him every day to visit you. Anakin has joined the creche. We may have broken one rule, accepting him into the Order so late, but we will respect tradition where we can. He will be eligible to become a padawan in two years, like all of the other Initiates.”

Qui-Gon smiled softly. “Good.” Mace frowned at him, and Qui-Gon sighed. “It will be best for him to acclimate as all the other children do; and I do not necessarily think I  _ should _ be the one to train the boy. When I made the offer--” Mace snorted at the polite phrasing; Qui-Gon continued as though he had not heard. “--it was because there seemed to be no one else willing to take up the task. You were insistent that he not be trained  _ at all _ , and that would have been… disastrous.”

“I think that fact is the only thing that saved your relationship with Obi-Wan, quite frankly,” Mace said flatly. “You’re lucky he is so forgiving. That man  _ adores _ you, Qui-Gon. You will have to be more careful with him in the future.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. He had not regretted his actions, that much was true, but he  _ had  _ regretted how he had presented his argument. He regretted that he had not told Obi-Wan before that day in the Council Chambers that the Council had been pushing for his Trials for months, and Qui-Gon agreed with them, despite how young Obi-Wan was. He had not wanted to let Obi-Wan go, his head and his heart thrumming a constant mantra of  _ not yet-not yet-not yet _ , but to admit that would have smacked of attachment, and so he had said nothing at all.

Now, though, he wondered--had it truly been attachment that had compelled him to keep Obi-Wan at his side just a little longer? Or had it been the Force? Without Obi-Wan, the debacle on Naboo would have been… catastrophic. If he had been Knighted three months before then, when the Council had first suggested that Qui-Gon put him forward for the Trials...

Qui-Gon let the thoughts go, knowing that it was no use to dwell on what almost was. When Mace saw that he had returned his attention to the present moment, he continued. “Anakin is doing very well. The three of you were on Naboo for nearly a month while they waited for you to be well enough to be moved back here, to the Temple. Obi-Wan convinced us to take him as an Initiate, and took the boy under his wing. He’s come far, in the last few weeks, and the two of them have grown quite close.”

He was pleased to hear that, too. Obi-Wan was so full of  _ Light _ , and so kind and gentle, but he also seemed to have some persistent insecurity that Qui-Gon had never been able to rid him of, and it made him… defensive, at times. Anakin was much the same--the experiences he’d had in his short life thus far had taught him that to appear weak was to  _ be _ weak. But beneath their sometimes prickly exteriors, both were quite easy to care for, and he was gratified to hear that they had found that in each other.

“I am glad to hear it,” Qui-Gon finally said, and Mace smiled softly.

“It’s been good for both of them,” Mace sighed. “There is… another matter.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll have to wait for your official report to the Council, of course, but we’re going to be giving you a commendation for valor,” Mace told him, and Qui-Gon gaped. It would not be the first time he had been given a commendation for his actions in battle, but all such honors were  _ public _ . “Our hand was forced. The footage I mentioned was leaked. The entire Temple and most of Coruscant have seen it, and it’s going viral on the ‘Net, now.”

“There goes any hope of discretion,” Qui-Gon sighed. He felt a headache coming on that had nothing at all to do with his weakened state. “And oh, my poor Padawan…”

Mace grinned a bit ruefully. “Yes. He’s already having to avoid questions and whispers, and there’s a definite hero-worship developing amongst the younger sets.”

“He’s going to hate all of this,” Qui-Gon groaned, and Mace barked a laugh.

“I said the same to him, ‘you must hate this,’” Mace said, looking  _ purple-and-pink  _ fond and amused. “He very primly reminded me that ‘Jedi do not hate; we only become severely annoyed.’”

Qui-Gon snorted, his own smile forming, and he shook his head. That sounded  _ precisely  _ like Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause, and Qui-Gon steeled himself. “I know what Vokara said, but please, Mace. I have one question that must be answered about that day.” Mace nodded slowly. “Something… happened. It felt like… a surge, in the Force, like a wave crashing down. It was centered on Obi-Wan.” He paused, thinking back to that day in the reactor room; contrary to Vokara’s belief that it may upset him, he felt nothing but calm curiosity as he thought back on it. He had long ago made peace with the fact that he would one day rejoin the Force--it would have been impossible to take on the sorts of missions he had if he had  _ not _ made peace with that fact, after all.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and continued, “From what I can recall, Obi-Wan was… different, after that. He began favoring Soresu, and his presence in the Force was… staggering. It felt like he had developed  _ years _ of skill in a single moment. And our bond was… changed. As though it snapped and then formed again in an instant.”

Mace was stone faced, his shields pulled up high, frustratingly  _ white _ blank in the Force. “Qui-Gon… because you are still  _ technically  _ Obi-Wan’s Master, I will give you the barest facts. But the matter is being held in the strictest confidence--not even the  _ full  _ Council knows all of the details yet.” Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, and Mace took a long moment before he continued. “A similar event happened simultaneously here on Coruscant, in the Temple. Several Jedi were affected--I can’t tell you who the others are, but because you are Obi-Wan’s Master and my friend, I can at least confirm that both of us shared the same… experience.”

“What was it?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning. The Force felt like it was holding its breath.

“It was like nothing we had ever experienced before. It was like nothing we could even find record of in the Archives,” Mace sighed. “The closest comparison would be to say that we had… visions. But they were startling in clarity, and left us all with skills and knowledge we did not have before the Seeing.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon murmured, and then he laughed. “For all my lectures on how Obi-Wan needed to pay more attention to the moment and the Living Force, it seems his connection to the Unifying Force is what won the day.”

Mace smiled, though it was wan, and his shields were still tight, revealing nothing. “I’m very glad you survived, Qui-Gon. The Order would be darker without you.” For the second time in the last twelve hours, Qui-Gon felt tears prick at his eyes, and blinked them away before they could fall. “You should rest. I hear Vokara is going to be starting on the regeneration tomorrow.”

Qui-Gon scowled. Regeneration machines that promoted healing by channeling the Force through kyber crystals were quite effective, but set him on edge. It felt as though his very bones were buzzing with the energy, making even his teeth  _ hum _ .

“Cheer up, old man,” Mace teased. “She estimates only three months before you’re on light duty again, and perhaps eight months before you’re fully cleared.”

And that  _ was _ good news, and Qui-Gon allowed that thought to buoy his spirits as he said his goodbyes to Mace and closed his eyes to drift off.

* * *

Qui-Gon knew that Vokara expected him to pitch a--very dignified, of course-- _ fit _ when she presented him with a mug of broth for his breakfast, but he simply took it with a small smile. She had raised the bed, allowing him to sit up without needing to put much pressure on the still-healing wound.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, staring at him, brow furrowed,  _ swirling burnt orange _ suspicious.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “You are the Master Healer, Vokara. Do you not already  _ know _ what is wrong with me?”

She scoffed and pursed her lips, shaking her head. “You haven’t fought me on  _ anything _ . Not the medication doses and schedule, not your recovery timeline, not your physical therapy. It isn’t like you.”

He sighed and shook his head. Staring down into the mug, he murmured, “I was rather… aggressively introduced to my true limitations, Vokara. I am not the man I was before Naboo, and I will be grateful for your assistance until I can be again.”

Vokara paused, and then gave him a soft  _ purple-green _ smile. “Of course, Qui-Gon. Now, drink. Once you’ve finished, I have a surprise for you.” At Qui-Gon’s sharp  _ look _ , she added, “A  _ pleasant _ one, I promise.”

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to drain the mug, knowing it would do him no favors. Vokara had told him the extent of the damage earlier that morning, and they had had to repair part of his stomach, replace one kidney, and his liver was still growing back. For now, his diet would consist of broth and the thick protein “smoothies” he was familiar with from past stays in the Halls, and for once, he could not bring himself to complain about it.

When he had finished, he set down the mug on the bedside table, and Vokara smiled approvingly and nodded to him before turning to leave. The moment the door opened, a little blur of tan and brown robes, shining  _ yellow-and-orange _ vibrantly in the Force came flying towards him. Qui-Gon chuckled as Anakin hugged his legs, obviously trying to be mindful of the injury.

“Master Qui-Gon! I’m so happy you’re finally awake,” Anakin said, smiling brightly.

“Ani, what have I told you about running in the Temple?” Obi-Wan called as he entered the room. Anakin glanced back at him, sighing.

“It’s for  _ emergencies only _ ,” he groaned, as though they’d been over this many times. “I know, I know. But Master Qui-Gon’s finally awake again--that  _ is _ an emergency! I had to see him!”

Obi-Wan shook his head, a small smile on his face as he sank down into the chair he’d occupied previously. Anakin was quick to climb into his lap, and Qui-Gon blinked in surprise as Obi-Wan merely wrapped his arms around Anakin’s middle, pulling him back to his chest.

“I’m glad to see the two of you getting along so well,” Qui-Gon said slowly.

“Yeah, Obi’s really nice, once he stops  _ brooding _ .” Qui-Gon snorted, and Obi-Wan frowned.

“I wish Sian hadn’t taught you that word,” he muttered, and Anakin giggled.

“But you  _ do _ .”

“He is right, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, raising an eyebrow. “You do have a tendency to  _ brood _ .” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and Qui-Gon smiled. “I hear you’ve joined Bear Clan now, Ani. How are you liking the creche?”

“It’s so  _ cool _ ,” Anakin said, sparkling with  _ pink  _ excitement. “Master Vlek-tu is teaching us more about the Force, and Sian taught me some of the games already! I’m really good at the guessing games, but not so good at flying the ships around with the Force. I crashed one into the wall.”

Qui-Gon smiled gently at him. “You’ll get there, Ani.”

“I know,” the boy answered, shrugging. “Obi already explained that I’m gonna be behind in some stuff and ahead in other stuff, just ‘cause I grew up learning different things. I just took my tests yesterday, and I’m gonna be in Advanced Mechanics! I’ll get to hang out with the pilots and the mechanics, and maybe they’ll let me help with the ships!”

“That’s very exciting.”

“Yeah! And after they hear what I did on Naboo, maybe they’ll even let me fly one!” Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed.

Obi-Wan laughed. “You’ll have to pass the simulations first, Ani, just like everyone else.”

Anakin pouted. “I  _ know _ . Master Tyyyvak told me that, but it’s just… do they make ships that have controls in Bocce? Or Huttese?”

“Not around here, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan said. “We’re so deep in the core, it’s amazing if you see anything other than Basic.”

“What did you do on Naboo?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning. Both Obi-Wan and Anakin looked at him in surprise, and then Obi-Wan groaned.

“Oops,” Anakin said. “We’re not supposed to talk about Naboo, that’s what Master Che said!”

“Oh, give it up, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, sounding exasperated and tired. “Master Qui-Gon is incredibly stubborn. Master Che didn’t want us to talk about Naboo because it may ‘upset him,’ but I’m certain the question hanging over his head will upset him even more. Go on.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, and he squirmed a bit in Obi-Wan’s lap. “I, um… I didn’t  _ mean _ to do it, honest! I stayed in the cockpit the  _ whole time _ , too, just like you said!”

“You flew the ship,” Qui-Gon said flatly, and Anakin nodded.

“Uh-huh. The autopilot came on, and it was tied to the rest of the fighter group, but I didn’t know how to turn it off! R2 eventually figured it out, but by then we were already in the battle, and… well, I kinda sorta got hit and crashed through the rayshield into the hangar on the control ship. Then I blew it up from the inside!”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, and then at Obi-Wan, who shrugged, an amused little grin tugging at his lips.

“That is… very impressive, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. The words felt trite, in the face of such exceptional  _ power _ and what had to have been the guiding hand of the Force, but Anakin beamed.

“Thanks, Master Qui-Gon! Padme, I mean,  _ Queen Amidala _ was really happy, and the pilots too! They were so happy they let me help repair the ships for the rest of the time we were on Naboo,” Anakin told him. “I made tons of new friends!”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Qui-Gon said honestly. He’d worried, of course, that taking Anakin away from his mother may hurt the boy, but what choice had he had? He was quite relieved to hear that Anakin seemed to be thriving.

And with no little help from Obi-Wan, it seemed, which was another surprise in itself, given his earlier… reservations. Mace had told him that they had become close, but Qui-Gon had not quited expected… this.

A chirp came from the commlink on Anakin’s wrist, and he groaned. “Ugh, already? I’m sorry, Master Qui-Gon, but I have to go back to the creche.” Anakin’s nose scrunched up. “Master Tyyyvak said that if I wasn’t back in time for the next meditation class, she’d make me spend an hour with the babies. And they’re really  _ loud _ .”

“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to hide his amused smile. He was not quite sure he succeeded, if Obi-Wan’s smirk was anything to go by.

“Here, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, letting go of him. Anakin hopped down, and Obi-Wan handed him a piece of folded flimsi he pulled out of one of the pouches of his belt. Qui-Gon could see what looked like a diagram of the Temple on it with colored arrows pointing down the hallways leading back to the creche, and he smiled.

“Thanks, Obi!” Anakin turned to Qui-Gon and beamed. “It was really good to see you, Master Qui-Gon! I’ll come back later when I’m done with classes.”

“It was good to see you too, Ani,” Qui-Gon answered. The boy waved and then ran out of the room.

Obi-Wan watched him go, shaking his head, a rueful smile on his face. “Always on the move.”

“You two seem… close.”

Obi-Wan turned back to him and shrugged. “You were right, as always, my Master,” he said, a wicked, teasing gleam in his eyes at that. Qui-Gon barked a laugh, wincing slightly as it pulled at the wound. “He is a very sweet child, and very strong with the Force. For the Order to refuse to train him… we would be handing him over to the Sith on a silver platter, I believe.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “I agree.”

“We spent quite a bit of time together, on Naboo,” Obi-Wan continued, answering the rest of Qui-Gon’s implied question. “He is quite… eager, if not exactly  _ patient _ . But he is a fast learner, and a good student. He’s doing well.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “And what about you? How are you doing? Mace told me about the footage.”

Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Master Drallig has asked me  _ sixteen times _ since we’ve been back to assist him in demonstrations. Initiates won’t stop approaching me to ask if I’ll be Knighted soon and taking a Padawan. For their part, Padawans are apparently asking their Masters for additional lessons in Soresu  _ and _ Ataru. Poor Master Trebor is completely overwhelmed with the amount of teaching requests he’s gotten since he’s been back in the Temple this week.” He dropped his hand and shook his head. “It’s… uncomfortable. Quite a  _ mess _ , actually.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Ah, celebrity. I know how you dislike the attention, Obi-Wan, but you  _ do _ deserve it.”

“I don’t want it,” Obi-Wan said flatly, and there was a distant look in his eyes, as though he was remembering something from long ago, the Force swirling with some unidentifiable  _ shimmering violet  _ emotion that was almost nostalgic. “I’d much rather go back to just being Obi-Wan Kenobi, the average Padawan.”

“You have never been average, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said fondly, and Obi-Wan flushed and looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head. “You are more than ready to become a Knight. I am very grateful that you chose to wait for me.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, that same, strange  _ violet  _ feeling tainting his smile, and those lovely blue-green-grey eyes had gone a bit stormy. “You made a promise to see me Knighted. I wasn’t about to become the reason your promise went unfulfilled, Master.”

Qui-Gon did not know what to say to that. Perhaps “I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve you,” or something equally maudlin, but he was spared having to form a reply by Vokara’s reappearance.

“Now that I have you both here,” Vokara said, “I have a bargain to make with you, Qui-Gon.”

“Oh?”

“Obey  _ all _ of our instructions for the next tenday, including  _ no sitting up on your own _ , and no strenuous Force-use, and we’ll let you go back to your quarters, after that. You will still have to report here each day for physical therapy, and I have ordered a  _ mandatory _ evaluation with a Mind Healer, but if you attend all of your appointments as-scheduled, you may stay in your own rooms.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, blinking in surprise. “That is a kind gesture.”

“Familiar surroundings steeped in your Force signature will help your healing,” Vokara said, and then she smirked at him. “Making you a more compliant patient  _ is _ a perk, I will admit.”

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. “Still, I appreciate the vote of confidence, allowing me to go back to my quarters alone.”

“Qui-Gon, the entire reason I’m allowing this is that you  _ won’t _ be alone,” she said slowly.

“I’ve requested to remain in the same quarters, for now,” Obi-Wan explained. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said dully, a little spark of something warm and  _ pale lavender _ rising in his chest. Obi-Wan may be a Knight soon, but he would not be leaving. The  _ pale lavender _ unidentifiable feeling was joined by a  _ glittering green  _ relief. “No, of course not.”

Obi-Wan smiled, the green chasing away the ice in his eyes at last, and Qui-Gon smiled back, that  _ lavender _ warmth swelling in his chest.

* * *

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about,” Obi-Wan said, interrupting the comfortable silence and the light meditative trance Qui-Gon had allowed himself to slip into. The Force had been swirling around him since he woke up, surrounding him as it always did, but it had felt frustratingly out of reach, out of control. He knew, of course--both because Vokara had told him and from unfortunate experience--that it was due to the drugs he was still on, and that his control of the Force would return to normal soon enough. In the meantime, it seemed… easier, when Obi-Wan was near.

“Oh?”

“My Grand-Master has been refusing to visit, though we can all tell he would very much like to,” Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. “He joined us on Naboo as soon as he heard, and he rarely left your side while you were… resting.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “I thought I remembered him being here, when I first woke.”

“He was,” Obi-Wan confirmed, “but now that you’re more aware, he insisted that you wouldn’t want to see him.” Obi-Wan gave him a rueful smile. “Actually, I believe his exact words were, ‘What my Padawan needs now is rest, and I can assure you that I am the least restful presence in his life.’”

Qui-Gon laughed at Obi-Wan’s surprisingly passable imitation of Yan, and then he shook his head slowly. “We hadn’t spoken in eight years. That is… a difficult breach to mend.”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him. “Near-death experiences tend to go a long way, Master. He cares about you very much, although he may not show it often. It was… difficult for him, to hear what had happened.”

He nodded slowly, thinking over Obi-Wan’s words. “If he wishes to visit, I will not turn him away. And I will do my best not to start any arguments.”

Obi-Wan laughed brightly,  _ vibrant green  _ relieved. “I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

“Don’t expect a miracle, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed. “But I will make an effort with him.”

“That is all I can ask of you, Master.”

* * *

Qui-Gon quickly fell into a routine. Now that he was awake and well on his way to healing, Vokara had begun his physical therapy, spending the morning sitting him up and laying him back down, raising his legs and lowering them again. It was  _ grueling _ , simply put. But it was also necessary, and Qui-Gon bore it with as much grace and good humor as he could while trying to ignore the burning ache in his stomach and the fact that he was still restricted to a depressingly  _ bland _ diet of broth and thick supplement shakes.

In the afternoon, one of the Soul Healers, Master B’nari, a kind, gentle Mirialan, came to help him heal his connection to the Force. Their first meeting had set Qui-Gon at ease, which had been a surprise in itself, given his lifelong reluctance to speak to the Soul Healers. The man was understanding, and had seemed the most concerned about Qui-Gon’s new synesthesia.

“Does it happen all of the time? Seeing others’ emotions as colors in the Force,” he’d asked. Qui-Gon had frowned, mulling it over briefly.

“No, not all of the time. Particularly intense emotions tend to cause it, but it also seems linked to how close I am to others. It happens most with Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon explained. Master B’nari had nodded slowly.

“This may be a side effect of the medications you’re on. It will likely diminish as we wean you off of them.”

Qui-Gon had accepted that answer easily. Of all of the changes he had experienced, the synesthesia was far from the most bothersome.

In the evenings, Obi-Wan would come to eat dinner with him, sometimes accompanied by Anakin, and sometimes alone. More often than not, Obi-Wan looked just as tired as Qui-Gon felt. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes, and his normally vivid  _ blue-green-silver  _ presence had dimmed somewhat.

“Have you been sleeping?” Qui-Gon asked one night when Anakin was not with them. Obi-Wan sighed, shrugging. Qui-Gon knew already that he would not like his answer.

“I try, Master,” Obi-Wan answered softly. “I do not always succeed.”

“Do or do not,” Qui-Gon thought of saying out of long-remembered habit. Quoting his Grand-Master was a frequent occurrence between himself and Obi-Wan. But looking at the tension around Obi-Wan’s mouth, the tired slant of his eyes and their unusual dullness, the purpling bruises beneath each eye, the slight slump of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, Qui-Gon somehow thought that would not be the right thing to say.

“What keeps you awake?” he asked instead, and Obi-Wan tensed slightly.

“It’s only dreams,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Dreams pass in time, I know.”

“Visions?” Qui-Gon prompted, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“No. Just… memories.”

Qui-Gon pursed his lips thoughtfully. Obi-Wan would not quite meet his eyes, staring out straight ahead into empty space as though seeing something only in his mind, likely replaying the memories that seemed to weigh him down. Qui-Gon reached out and placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm; Obi-Wan blinked and met his eyes, then, smiling slightly.

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured him.

“I know you will,” Qui-Gon answered quietly, “but you do not have to bear them alone, you know. I would be happy to listen.”

Obi-Wan smiled, but there was a  _ dark burgundy-and-blue  _ sadness to it. “I would be happy to confide in you, if I could. But the Council has decided that certain events should be kept… quiet.”

Qui-Gon blinked, and then frowned. “I see. This is related to the Seeing, then?” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Qui-Gon sighed. “I am sorry, Obi-Wan, that the Council has left you to deal with this by yourself.”

“Not completely alone, at least. There are a few others,” Obi-Wan sighed, and then he grimaced. “Although, on second thought, that might have been better. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

Qui-Gon did not know what to say to that--he found it happening distressingly often now, when it came to Obi-Wan. He settled for moving his hand from Obi-Wan’s arm to hold his hand. Obi-Wan laced their fingers together, and Qui-Gon idly brushed his thumb in soothing, repetitive motions over the back of his hand. They stayed that way, in comfortable silence again, until Vokara finally came to primly order Obi-Wan back to his own quarters for the night. Qui-Gon watched him go, praying that sleep found him before he collapsed from exhaustion.

* * *

Finally, the torturous tenday was over, and Qui-Gon was being released back to his own quarters. He had tried to insist upon walking there, but conceded the point rather graciously when Vokara said she may as well keep him in the Halls if he was going to act that way.

He was presentable enough, Obi-Wan having been kind enough to comb his hair and plait it back for him, since raising his arms still pulled too uncomfortably at the still-healing wound, and he  _ was _ relieved to be leaving the Halls, but he still scowled at the hoverchair.

“Get used to it,” Vokara said. “It’s going to be another month before I let you actually walk when you’re out of my sight.” Qui-Gon opened his mouth, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Or you could just stay here, if you would like. It would be  _ far _ more convenient--”

“I would not impose upon you any longer than strictly necessary,” Qui-Gon said quickly. He pretended not to see Obi-Wan raising his hand to his mouth to cover his amused smirk. “Though I thank you for your care, Vokara.”

She tipped her head back and laughed  _ bright pink  _ at him. “Well, at least you’ve gotten more polite. Go on, get out of here. I expect you back tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, nodding eagerly. He would have agreed to far less simple terms, after all, if it meant getting out of the Halls.

Obi-Wan stood. “Ready?”

“Beyond ready.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was  _ lavender-and-pink _ fond and amused, and he nodded. He walked beside the chair, radiating quiet  _ green  _ relief as Qui-Gon chose to take the long way around to their quarters, hoping to avoid as many of their fellow Jedi as possible. He knew that neither of them were quite up to dealing with the stares and questions yet.

“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan asked mildly. A bit  _ too  _ mildly, and Qui-Gon glanced up at him, brow furrowed lightly in suspicion.

“Quite, unless you are offering more of Vokara’s broths or shakes.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Not at all, Master. Master Che cleared you for a near-normal diet.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed. “‘Near-normal?’”

“Nothing too greasy, nothing too acidic, and definitely no alcohol yet,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head.

“No Dex’s then.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan said. “But there should be some real food waiting for us, at least.”

Qui-Gon gave him a curious  _ look _ laden with questions, but Obi-Wan simply smiled at him and said nothing further as they made their way to their quarters. The few other Jedi they passed stared at them, but thankfully did not try to stop them to speak.

When they reached their quarters, Qui-Gon could sense vaguely familiar presences within, although it was deadened by the standard shielding each apartment had. When the door opened, Qui-Gon felt a flutter of relief that it wasn’t a large party, but instead merely Anakin running toward him.

“Master Qui-Gon, you’re home!” Anakin cried. Qui-Gon didn’t even make it in the door before Anakin latched his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck, straining on the tips of his toes to reach around the hoverchair. Qui-Gon chuckled and wrapped one arm around the boy, patting his back.

“It is very good to be home,” Qui-Gon answered. “Despite Vokara’s hospitality, I still can’t claim to enjoy my time in the Halls.”

Anakin giggled and let go of him, allowing Qui-Gon to enter and Obi-Wan just after him. Qui-Gon watched with a gentle smile as Obi-Wan bent down to hug Anakin, who preened at the attention.

“Ani, why don’t we go set the table?” Obi-Wan suggested. Anakin nodded and eagerly tugged his hand, pulling him off toward the kitchen. A moment later, Qui-Gon realized why he’d offered the distraction as Yan stepped out of the kitchen, passing the pair on their way in.

“It’s good to see you,” Qui-Gon said slowly. He  _ knew  _ the way that Yan raised one eyebrow at him, giving him a look that so clearly said, “is it really?”

Instead, Yan simply hummed and then said, “You are looking far better.”

Qui-Gon managed a smile for him and nodded. “I am feeling far better than I was the last time you saw me. If I recall correctly, I was in a panic about Obi-Wan.” He paused, his smile growing a bit wider, a bit more genuine. “Thank you, for helping look after him on Naboo.”

Yan nodded stiffly. “I would accept your thanks, but you raised a rather… remarkable young Knight. He hardly needed any of our help.”

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. “Thank you for coming to Naboo for  _ me _ , then.”

Yan paused and then his shoulders seemed to slump--not that it would look like much of a “slump” on anyone else, but Yan tended to be… tense. It was more a slight release of the rigidity in his shoulders, but to Qui-Gon, well. He knew what that gesture signalled.

“Of course,” Yan murmured. “You are my Padawan, after all.”

Qui-Gon laughed outright. “Not for  _ decades _ , if memory serves.”

Yan’s eyebrow ticked up a bit higher. “You will always be my Padawan. Now come, it’s time you ate something other than the gruel the Halls serve.”

Qui-Gon barked another laugh, deciding not to call attention to the way Yan changed topics the moment conversation grew too close to declarations of  _ feeling _ . He had promised Obi-Wan that he would try, and Yan himself did seem to be on his best behavior.

Dinner sent a wave of nostalgia flowing through Qui-Gon: steamed lemon rice,  _ takee-oulee _ fish, and a bed of greens. It was a meal Yan had made them countless times during his apprenticeship, simple dishes from Serenno that he could make in his sleep. Though it  _ was _ typical for the Padawan to cook for and serve the Master, they had quickly realized that Qui-Gon was not simply incapable in the kitchen, he was downright  _ dangerous _ . After the first three times Qui-Gon had set fire to the cabinets in their kitchen, Yan had banned him from anything beyond brewing their tea.

“What is this?” Anakin asked, poking at his fish with his fork.

“ _ Takee-oulee _ ,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s a type of fish.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. “Fish? Like from an  _ ocean _ ?”

Obi-Wan smiled into his teacup, and even Yan’s lips twitched. “Yes, Ani. There are several large oceans on Serenno.”

“Woah,” Anakin said, and took a tentative bite. “Mm, tha’s good!”

“While I am glad you approve, Initiate, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking while your mouth is full,” Yan drawled, raising an eyebrow at Anakin. The boy flushed.

“S’rry, Math-ter,” he mumbled, mouth still full. Yan sighed, shaking his head, and began to eat himself with the same delicate motions Qui-Gon remembered so clearly.

Conversation around the table was a bit of a blur to Qui-Gon. For the rest of the meal, he found he could focus on nothing other than the way the Force was humming with  _ silver-purple-green _ rightness and contentment. This was his  _ family _ , and to have them all together again was truly a gift.

* * *

Qui-Gon liked this new routine far better. Each morning, Obi-Wan had breakfast ready and waiting for him, and then walked him down to the Halls for his appointments before disappearing to do… whatever it was he occupied his time with each day. (“Oh, I’ve finally given in to Master Drallig, and he has me helping with both Ataru and Soresu demonstrations. And Grand-Master has agreed to work with me on Makashi, so I’m spending a great deal of time in the salles,” Obi-Wan had said, though Qui-Gon had known from the way his eyes had gone icy grey, his smile not reaching his eyes, that he was holding something back. Still, he was all but a Knight, now, and Qui-Gon would give him his space. For now, anyway.)

Getting to eat normally again and return to his own quarters each night was doing wonders for his healing. Even Vokara reluctantly agreed that it had been a good idea to send him back to his own rooms, and Qui-Gon knew how she had been loathe to agree to it initially. (“That was all Obi-Wan’s doing,” Vokara had sighed with a rueful little grin. “He made a very compelling case for it, and promised to drag you back here himself if it didn’t work out. I think he knew all along that he wouldn’t have to fulfill that promise.”)

Some nights, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan ate their evening meal alone, and it was almost like nothing had ever changed. Their camaraderie was as easy as ever, and Qui-Gon was pleased to be able to--truthfully--report each night that his healing was advancing ahead of schedule, which always inspired such a  _ sparkling green and shimmering violet  _ relief and affection in Obi-Wan. Other nights, Yan joined them, and sometimes Anakin did as well. Those were some of Qui-Gon’s favorite evenings, most of his unconventional little family gathered around. The Force itself seemed to sigh with  _ green-silver _ contentment, those days.

It took only another month before Vokara cleared him to stop using the hoverchair--most of the time, anyway. (“Anything longer than 100 meters, and I want you in the chair, for now. But around your quarters or here in the Halls, it’ll be fine. Rest if you start to feel uncomfortable--we don’t want to push it and set you back. And if I catch you walking from your rooms to my Halls, I will drag you back here and you will go back to that bed so quickly your head will spin.”)

Qui-Gon was definitely riding a high, the satisfied warmth in his chest growing a bit stronger with each passing day, and Vokara had moved up his light duty fitness clearance to just another month out (“ _ if _ you continue to behave yourself”). There was a definite bounce in his step--significantly helped by the fact that he was  _ walking _ , under his own power, which was still a novelty--and the very Force itself seemed to  _ glow _ around him.

But the positive feedback loop he found himself in seemed to only make it that much harder when Qui-Gon finally realized that not all was well.

* * *

Qui-Gon woke with a sharp  _ gasp _ , his chest heaving, a light sheen of sweat over his skin, chilling him. He shivered as he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He could have  _ sworn _ he had heard screaming. But there was only the quiet hum of nighttime--the faintest buzz of the speeders passing the Temple outside, the near-silent thrum of the generators that ran the Temple. Everything was fine.

Slowly, Qui-Gon began to lay back down--and then he felt it.  _ Black-red-orange-yellow  _ terror and horror and  _ pain _ overwhelmed him in a staggering  _ wave _ , crashing down, and he couldn’t  _ breathe _ , he couldn’t  _ think _ , he couldn’t--

_ There was molten lava running in vast rivers around them, sweat drenching both of their robes, noxious fumes choking them, red ‘saber and blue ‘saber ignited, facing each other-- _

_ “Don’t try it!” _

The next instant, Qui-Gon was back in his bed, trembling, gasping for breath. Where had that  _ come from _ ? He had no talent for prescience, the Force at best speaking to him of the future in vague whispers, but never  _ images _ , not like  _ that _ \--

The answer hit him like a thunderbolt, his spine straightening, and he flew out of bed as quickly as he could while still being mindful of the burning  _ still red but no longer charred black  _ ache in his stomach. Qui-Gon grabbed a tunic, shrugging into it but not bothering to pull it closed, as he walked quickly--as quickly as he dared push himself at this early stage--through the living room and down the hall toward Obi-Wan’s room.

The door was unlocked, as always, the door opening with a quiet  _ swoosh _ . The miasma of that  _ black-red-orange-yellow _ horror and Darkness still lingered, but was dissipating already. It was dark, the room lit only by the lights of the Coruscant skyline outside, shining in through the window. Qui-Gon frowned at the empty bed, the perfect sheets, and then he spotted Obi-Wan. He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his blanket draped over his lap, leaning back against the wall, one hand covering his face. It was difficult to tell, in the dimness, but Qui-Gon thought he was shaking.

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon said softly. Immediately, his hand dropped, and wide eyes turned on Qui-Gon. Even from there, even in the dark, Qui-Gon could see that they were wet with tears. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan croaked. He cleared his throat and shook his head, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

Slowly, Qui-Gon knelt down, one hand pressed to the still-healing wound. “A nightmare? Or a vision?”

“Both, and neither,” Obi-Wan answered slowly. He sighed and tilted his head back, resting it against the wall. “A nightmare of the same vision.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon said gently. He paused, his old maxims on his tongue but refusing to fall from his lips--“dreams pass, in time,” or “focus on the here and now.” It didn’t feel right. Slowly, haltingly, he offered, “If you wish to speak of it…?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then his lips twisted into a rueful smile. He shook his head where it rested against the wall. “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t. These are the same damnable vision-dreams.” He met Qui-Gon’s eyes again, the icy grey beginning, finally, to thaw into the familiar blue-green-grey swirl. “Council’s orders.”

“Ah.” Qui-Gon sighed. “Did you fall out of bed?”

“No, I fell asleep here.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “On the floor?”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks heated, his blush visible even in the dim light, and he shrugged. “The bed was… too soft.”

“Too soft” was not a criticism that Qui-Gon had ever heard before about their standard-issue sleep couches. They were comfortable enough, and served their purpose in providing their occupants with a restful night of sleep, but little more than that. They were far from the decadent clouds he was sure the palace in Theed had offered Obi-Wan, certainly.

Qui-Gon let the thoughts go; they were not helpful to either of them in that moment. Instead, he stood slowly, feeling a flush of mingled  _ green  _ pleasure and  _ pale orange  _ chagrin as it was his  _ knees _ that protested more at the movement than his still-healing abdomen. He held out a hand.

“Come on, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, clasping his hand, though he did far more to lift himself than Qui-Gon did. He did not let go of Obi-Wan’s hand, tugging him gently from his dark room, through the common areas of their quarters, and back to Qui-Gon’s own room. “Lay down.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but did not argue, slipping beneath the covers on the clearly unused side of the double bed. Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction and crossed to his preferred side, sliding in and scooting over until his hand brushed Obi-Wan’s under the sheets, both of them on their backs.  Qui-Gon reached for the bond, the first time that he had done so since Naboo.  _ I will guard your dreams tonight. Rest.  _ Obi-Wan did not respond--not through the bond, at least, but Qui-Gon heard his small sigh, felt the release of  _ simmering orange-yellow  _ tension. Satisfied that Obi-Wan would find his own respite, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, a small smile on his face, and surrendered himself back to sleep.

* * *

Obi-Wan was already gone when he woke the next morning, but breakfast was laid out for him just as it always was, and a small flimsi paper Obi-Wan had folded into a tidy little bird sitting next to it. Qui-Gon smiled to himself, gently running one finger along the carefully formed wings. He made sure that the gift was put up on top of his dresser before he left for the day, where it would be kept safe, and for him alone to see.

* * *

“You are progressing quite well, Qui-Gon,” B’nari’s smile was soft, but genuine. “I believe we can lift the meditation restriction now, although I would urge you to take it slowly, particularly if you are still experiencing any synesthesia.”

“It still comes and goes,” Qui-Gon said, unconcerned. “It will either fade entirely, or it will not. So far, it has not been detrimental in any way. Simply… odd.”

B’nari nodded. “I’ve also spoken to Vokara, and we’ve agreed that my sessions with you will go down to once per week, with additional sessions as-needed.”

_ If he started to dream about Naboo again _ , Qui-Gon translated, and he nodded slowly in agreement. “And I must thank you for all of your help in this matter. But I do have a… request.”

“Oh?”

“Obi-Wan has had several… concerning incidents, since our return from Naboo,” Qui-Gon began slowly, and B’nari frowned, gesturing with his stylus for Qui-Gon to continue. “Last night was the final straw, I must say. I shared a portion of a dream he had been having. A nightmare. It was… the Darkest thing I have ever felt, and I am counting the Zabrak Sith we fought. When I went into his room to check on him, I found he had been sleeping on the floor, beside his bed, rather than in it. He said that it was ‘too soft.’” Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, clasping his hands together. “I believe the changes in him to be directly related to the vision he and a number of others experienced. I do understand that the Council has declared that none of the information be shared, and that I was only told of the incident in deference to my position as Obi-Wan’s Master. But I believe he needs to talk about this. If it cannot be with me, I would like to know that the Council would at least deign to allow a Healer into their confidence.”

B’Nari’s eyebrows rose. “And you’d like me to speak to Obi-Wan?”

“Not yet,” Qui-Gon sighed. “While I could order him into sessions, as I  _ am _ still his Master, doing so would be counterproductive. No, for now I would simply appreciate it if you asked the Council if they would allow you to evaluate those who were affected.”

B’Nari frowned at him, and then sighed, setting the stylus down to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “I should not tell you this.” He lowered his hand and gave Qui-Gon an intense  _ look _ . “I am not authorized to speak of any of it, either.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon leaned forward.

“I know you are capable of being discrete, but I must ask you to promise that this goes no further than this room. You may not tell  _ anyone  _ what you learn here.” Qui-Gon nodded grimly. “I  _ did _ evaluate each Jedi affected by the visions. Well,  _ nearly _ each Jedi. Master Sifo-Dyas… He always had such a strong predisposition towards visions. He became… overwhelmed. He committed suicide shortly after the visions. It prompted the evaluations.”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, and then sighed. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. He was a dear friend of my master’s, and a staple in our quarters during my apprenticeship. He was a good man.”

B’Nari’s smile was sad, and he nodded slowly. “He was.” They sat in silence for a long moment, slowly-swirling  _ dark maroon-purple  _ grief and remembrance passing between them, into the Force, as they each remembered the Master. Finally, B’Nari sat back in his chair. “Obi-Wan is having a bit of a… difficult time. In his visions, he lived an entire alternate  _ life _ , in the space of mere  _ moments _ in this life. Adjusting is proving somewhat harder than we might have thought. But he is doing very well, considering the actual content of those visions. And  _ no _ , Qui-Gon, I will not go so far as to tell you about that. But please, rest assured that I myself have already evaluated Obi-Wan, and he is doing as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.”

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw. He let the  _ yellow-orange _ frustration simmer for the briefest of moments before releasing it into the Force. B’Nari nodded in approval. Qui-Gon bowed his head. “Thank you for reassuring me. I know that you broke the Council’s command even telling me as much as you have, and I am grateful for it.”

B’Nari nodded, smiling at him. “For the record, I recommended that the Council tell you everything, in full detail. But they decided that the fewer who know, the better. But, Qui-Gon, believe me: while Obi-Wan  _ is _ ready for his Knighthood, he still  _ needs  _ you.  _ You  _ are what’s best for him right now. All you have to do is to  _ be there _ , precisely as you have the past seven years.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, brightening somewhat. “Again, my friend: thank you.”

B’Nari laughed brightly, the last of the cloying  _ Dark _ emptying from the room. “I think that’s probably the first time you’ve ever called a  _ Healer _ of any kind a friend in such plain terms, Qui-Gon. It is an honor, and one I am happy to return.”

* * *

“You want to  _ what _ , now?”

Qui-Gon continued to smile politely up at the Besalisk Quartermaster, Ven Trekk, even as he crossed both sets of arms over his chest, peering down at Qui-Gon with a small frown.

“I would like to exchange the bed in my Padawan’s room.”

“For one of the--” He glanced down at the datapad showing Qui-Gon’s written request. “--standard-issue field cots?” Master Trekk shook his head. “Master Jinn, far be it from me to tell you how you should and should not punish your Padawan--”

“It is no punishment,” Qui-Gon was quick to correct him. “I discovered last night that he has been sleeping on the floor because his bed, and I quote, ‘was too soft.’”

The Besalisk blinked at him and then threw up his top set of hands into the air. “ _ Humans _ . Look, Master Jinn, I hear that all the time from older Masters and younger field Jedi alike, and it always comes down to the same issue. If he has back problems, that’s best taken up with the Healers--”

“He has spoken to the Healers, and both he and I are assured that there is no such problem,” Qui-Gon answered calmly. “In fact, I spoke to Healer B’Nari just this morning, and he agreed that all Obi-Wan needs is a chance to adjust, but there are too many adjustments to make at the moment. This, at least, will allow him to get a good night’s rest.”

Master Trekk stared at him for a long moment, scratching his chin with one one hand, before he sighed. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

The Besalisk shook his head again. “Well, there is still the issue of having to replace it  _ again _ so soon.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a matter of time before he’s Knighted,” Master Trekk said bluntly, “and then we’ll have to switch it back again right after, for your new Padawan.”

“New Padawan?”

“Yes, that Skywalker boy.”

“Oh, no,” Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head. “It will be at least another two years before Anakin is eligible, and I am not even guaranteed to be his Master.”

“Huh,” Master Trekk said, and Qui-Gon could have sworn he heard the man mutter “lost that bet, then.” Louder, he continued, “Still, that doesn’t change the fact that once he’s a Knight, he’ll have his own quarters and, one way or another, we’ll have to move them all around again.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “For Force’s  _ sake _ , if it will help then I will promise to move it myself when the time comes for him to move. Does that satisfy you?”

Master Trekk raised both eyebrows, pointed looking down at Qui-Gon, seated in the hoverchair he was still required to use for longer journeys throughout the Temple, and Qui-Gon glared defiantly back. Finally, the Besalisk shook his head, turned to the datapad, and tapped at it quickly.

“Fine. The request is approved. Padawan Ca’taaca will bring it by in one hour.” He peered over the datapad at Qui-Gon, smirking at him. “But if we’re putting the old one back inside of a week, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Qui-Gon snorted. “That is acceptable. Thank you for your assistance, as always.”

* * *

Obi-Wan already had dinner ready by the time Qui-Gon returned to their quarters after his last errand of the day. It was just the two of them that night, as Qui-Gon had quietly worked behind the scenes to ensure they would be alone for this conversation.

“I hope I’ve not kept you waiting,” Qui-Gon said lightly, gratefully rising out of the chair the moment he was inside the door, stretching with the barest hint of a wince as he pulled at the newly-scarred tissue, raising his arms over his head. Obi-Wan looked up from where he’d been staring down at the table and shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Not at all.”

Qui-Gon nodded and joined Obi-Wan at the table, sinking down slowly, carefully. He was pleasantly surprised when the wound did not so much as twinge this time. He truly was healing, and far more quickly than expected, too. Looking down at the bowl set at his place, he smiled. Obi-Wan’s stew had gone a long way to easing Qui-Gon’s utter disgust for the food, after having had Yoda’s “stew” so often during his own apprenticeship. The Grand-Master’s imitation included ingredients such as  _ moss-water _ and  _ Iridonian toad legs _ , and Qui-Gon had been so put off that he had been reluctant, at first, to try Obi-Wan’s version. But his turned out to be a heavenly, hearty mixture of tubers, cubed nerf meat, and  _ normal  _ vegetables, not a hint of moss in sight. They had both agreed never to let Yoda know that Obi-Wan had “improved” upon his recipe.

“You had my bed changed,” Obi-Wan said, his tone light, giving away nothing. Qui-Gon looked up, taking in the quiet blankness of Obi-Wan’s expression, and he shrugged.

“You found the other too soft,” he said simply. “I thought this would be more to your liking.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, and then he laughed, his eyes bright. “It is. Thank you, Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled back softly, basking in the quiet  _ green-silver-lavender  _ peace and pure happiness of the familiar moment. He took a deep breath, and let it go.

He would do what he must. He would give Obi-Wan the honor they had all been delaying.

“I was running late because I was speaking to the Council,” Qui-Gon said softly. “Now that I have fulfilled your conditions, and can stand on my own again, I thought it was high time to schedule your Ceremony.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then he smiled, too, a bit  _ dark purple  _ sad, but dominated by  _ shining emerald green and brilliant sky blue  _ happiness. “When?”

“In three days,” Qui-Gon answered. “Reeft will not be able to make it back to Coruscant, but Garen Muln and Knight Vos will be back by then. And Bant is already here, of course.”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew. “Thank you, Master. That’s very kind of you.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “All Knighting Ceremonies should be immediately followed by a celebration wherein you drink entirely too much alcohol with your agemates and regret your life the next morning. It is a rite of passage.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Did Grand-Master have anything to say about that ‘rite of passage?’”

Qui-Gon laughed. “He did, as a matter of fact. I believe his exact words were, ‘For Force’s sake, Qui-Gon, please do not end up on the news or before the Council for any of your actions tonight. Have a  _ moderate _ amount of fun.’”

Obi-Wan burst into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard tears began to prick at his eyes. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“It does,” Qui-Gon agreed, and for the first time, consciously noted that the  _ dark purple and grey  _ cold that used to flood his belly at the thought of his Master had been replaced by a  _ lighter purple and silver  _ affection. “I am glad that you have gotten to know him. Perhaps it was a mistake to keep the two of you apart for so long.”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. My Grand-Master has been changed by recent events. Between the loss of Master Sifo-Dyas, and your injury… I believe it caused him to examine more deeply the relationships he  _ does _ have within the Order.”

“Then while I cannot say that I am pleased by recent events, I  _ am _ glad that at least some good has come of them,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“That we can agree on.”

“Now, I’m certain you know what a Knight’s first year is like,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “You’ll be quite busy, going from one end of the galaxy to another. And I’m sure you’ll be in particularly high demand, given the reputation you’ve gained.”

His teasing was met with an eye roll, and Qui-Gon laughed. It was a gesture Obi-Wan never allowed himself when outside of very close company.

“Perhaps, Master,” Obi-Wan hummed.

“Given that you’ll be so busy,” Qui-Gon continued, the slightest bit of nerves beginning to swarm in his belly, “you are quite welcome to wait on requesting a new room assignment, if you would like.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and then a small smile crossed his face, accompanied by the faintest hint of a  _ blush _ . “Thank you, Master. I have found that I have no desire to leave these rooms just yet.”

The knot of tension eased, and Qui-Gon smiled back. “Master Rancisis may say what he likes about ‘attachment,’ but I am glad to have you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew, and he shook his head. “Master Rancisis will continue his mutterings no matter what, I’m sure. But I will not be swayed. Not in this. I am just as pleased to have you, Master mine.”

That moment stretched out between them,  _ lavender-gold-silver-green-blue _ peace and pride and pure joy echoing from both of them into the Force, and Qui-Gon committed it to memory, this one time when everything was simply  _ perfect _ .

* * *

Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon knew, held a deep respect for their traditions. In the early days of their partnership, those rocky first few years, Qui-Gon had not understood it. He could still not quite say that he could lay claim to a full understanding of what it brought to Obi-Wan, reciting and practicing their rituals with particular reverence, but he had seen the kind of peace it brought, the sort of centering effect it had on him, and Qui-Gon had stopped protesting when Obi-Wan performed the tea ceremony at least once a day, when he murmured the symbolism of the tunics and tabards and obi to himself as he dressed each morning, as he recited the Crystal Code before ‘saber practice.

It was, therefore, a given that Obi-Wan would leave him the morning before his Knighting to ascend the Tranquility Spire for the traditional meditation.

“You’ll be alright tonight?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am perfectly capable of spending one night alone in my own rooms,” he said,  _ purple edged with yellow  _ fond exasperation evident in his tone. “After all, I  _ can _ walk again.”

Obi-Wan smiled benignly at him and nodded. “Of course, Master.”

And that day had been easy enough. Everywhere he went, from the Halls of Healing for his morning physical therapy, to the refectory, Qui-Gon was distracted by the heartfelt congratulations of his fellow Jedi. It was a welcome distraction, as was Yan bringing Anakin for dinner, seeming to sense that he would need company that evening.

But that night, for all his promises that he would be fine, Qui-Gon was… restless. He  _ was _ fine, he truly was--and  _ happy _ , so deliriously, blissfully happy and so fiercely  _ proud _ that he thought his heart might burst, it was so full. Even so, there was a  _ nagging _ tug at the back of his mind, the feeling of things left unfinished, of words left unsaid.

It was very late--or very early, depending upon one’s perspective, when Qui-Gon finally gave up his attempts to sleep. Silently, he made his way through their quarters to Obi-Wan’s room, palming the door and simply staring into the darkness for a long moment. The room was steeped in the  _ bright blue-green-silver _ familiar presence of his Padawan, all traces of the Darkness that plagued him gone, washed away by the Light he carried within him always.

With a sigh, Qui-Gon sank down to his knees and bowed his head, breathing deeply, closing his eyes. He wrapped the Force around him, colored by that comforting imprint, and surrendered himself to the currents.

Mace’s words came to him almost instantly:  _ You will have to be more careful with him. _

It was true. How many times had he been reckless, even  _ careless _ , in his treatment of Obi-Wan?

It had begun on Bandomeer, when Obi-Wan had offered up his life in an attempt to save others, but it had not ended there. Qui-Gon had left him behind, a mere thirteen-year-old Padawan, abandoned in the middle of a warzone on Melida/Daan. He had accepted Obi-Wan’s  _ lightsaber _ and implied that he was no longer a member of the Order. True, he had gone back for him, but the damage between them had been done. From that point on, Obi-Wan had hidden so much from Qui-Gon, from minor injuries he pretended not to have gotten and Qui-Gon pretended not to see to visions that Obi-Wan denied ever suffering and Qui-Gon did not know how to address.

He hadn’t trusted Qui-Gon, and the thought clenched around his heart like a particularly vicious reptile. Obi-Wan hadn’t  _ trusted  _ that Qui-Gon would keep him at his side if he proved to be anything less than the best, anything less than a  _ perfect _ Jedi.

And he  _ was _ the best, in so many ways--not that Obi-Wan’s completely non-existent ego would ever allow him to admit it. He may not have been a prodigy, not quite like Anakin, but his capacity to learn and his determination to do so allowed him to overcome any challenge he faced. For years, Obi-Wan had been the best duelist of his age group (although now, Qui-Gon had his suspicions that Obi-Wan could best even experienced Masters in the salles, judging by what he’d seen on Naboo), the most well-read, the most eloquent, the best mechanic, the most creative slicer.

But still, he had always seemed to push himself, to  _ expect _ himself, to do more.

Qui-Gon realized, in that moment, that for all that he had taught his Padawan, he had failed to teach him his own self-worth. It occurred to him, for the first time, that Obi-Wan did not know what a treasure he was, what a beacon of Light, what a  _ joy _ .

_ I will _ , he promised, to the Force alone.  _ I will be more careful with him. If it is not too late, I will teach him this one final lesson. _

* * *

Qui-Gon waited in the dim pre-dawn light in the circle of other Masters, all waiting for Obi-Wan in the Hall of Knighthood. They filtered in one by one, smiling at each other, and at Qui-Gon in particular, standing at ease in his position in the circle. Qui-Gon approved of the mix of Masters who had gathered, glad that they were comprised of those who meant something to Obi-Wan, and not only members of the High Council. Shaak Ti was there, and Plo Koon, and Mace, Depa, Adi, and, in fact, every Master Obi-Wan had met with during his probation, so long ago now, after Melida/Daan, was there. The vote of confidence and the inherent  _ forgiveness _ was touching.

And then Yan arrived, and Qui-Gon smiled a bit brighter.

He allowed himself a moment to bask in the  _ pure green and bright blue  _ peace and joy of the moment before Obi-Wan arrived. The Masters ignited their ‘sabers in unison, a beautiful array of different colors.

As was traditional, Yoda spoke the moment Obi-Wan reached the center of the circle and knelt.

"We are all Jedi. The Force speaks through us. Through our actions, the Force proclaims itself and what is real. Today we are here to acknowledge what the Force has proclaimed." Yoda looked to Qui-Gon, then, and he nodded. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

When Yoda had approached Qui-Gon with the idea, he had at first been hesitant. Knowing how Obi-Wan appreciated tradition, he had been loathe to part from it--not for this. But Mace had agreed that it was a good idea, and they both insisted that Obi-Wan would appreciate it more than tradition, and Qui-Gon had agreed.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he stepped forward, Obi-Wan looking up at him with a gentle smile, his eyes wet, as Qui-Gon moved to rest his ‘saber first above the right shoulder, and then his left. Reaching out, he grasped Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid--so long, weighed down by beads and markers, the signs of all of his accomplishments and their time together--and severed it in one smooth motion. He let go, and Obi-Wan caught it easily, still staring up at him.

"By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of the Order."

Obi-Wan, adhering to tradition, rose, and then bowed at the waist, saying nothing. The assembled Masters bowed back, Qui-Gon included. But Obi-Wan did not immediately turn to leave. Still, he remained silent, as was traditional, but he reached out to grab Qui-Gon’s left hand, and gently pressed the braid into it.

Qui-Gon felt his own eyes begin to water, his vision blurring, and he smiled as he clasped his hand around the braid and brought it to his lips, bowing again.

Obi-Wan left silently, and the ‘sabers were extinguished, leaving only the quiet breaths and soft steps of the Masters retreating after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The synesthesia was fun to write. It's loosely based on real synesthesia that I get when I have migraines (I don't see emotions, just sounds as colors when I get auras with my migraines). Please let me know what you thought! Your comments keep me going. :D


	3. Jango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3! ...I apologize profusely for it. I can't write action to save my life. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Couple of credits: This chapter features more of Fialleril's Tatooine Slave Culture. It also has several scenes that are pretty reminiscent of kj_feybar's "Stone in a Dam" and "Pebble in a River." Those are fantastic stories that you all should absolutely go read! I did write this before I read either of those, but those of you who have read both will know exactly which scene I mean. I figured with how close it was I would give a shout-out to those stories! A lot of this stuff I've cobbled together from fanon and just reading tons of fics, so some ideas are similar to others.
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> Aliit: Family, clan/kin  
> beskar'gam: armor  
> Haat Mando'ade: True Mandalorians  
> Jetiise: plural for Jedi, singular Jetii  
> Vod'e: gender-neutral, brothers and sisters  
> Mand'alor: Leader of Mandalore, ie king  
> Kyr'tsad: Death Watch  
> Ni ceta: I'm sorry (lit. I kneel)  
> Di'kutla: Stupid  
> mandokarla: the right stuff, what it takes to be Mandalorian  
> ka'ra: Stars, also the mythical ancient ruling council of dead kings of Mandalore  
> Jorad'alor: Speaker of the people  
> Vor entye: Thank you (lit. I accept a debt)  
> ner Mand'alor: my king  
> K'oyacyi!: Cheers (lit. a command to stay alive)  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Prudii: Shadows  
> hu'tuun'e: cowards  
> Resol'nare: Six tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: It's a good day for someone else to die. (Also the title! We finally got there!)  
> Jetii'kad: Lightsaber (lit. Jedi sword)  
> Nayc: no  
> ad/ade: child/children  
> Ret'urcye mhi: Maybe we'll meet again (goodbye)

Jango Fett was not a stupid man. He had good instincts and a sharp memory--which, some days, was more of a curse than a blessing, when he found himself replaying over and over again the memories of one after another of his _aliit_ falling around him, and he wished he _didn’t_ remember that so well.

But he _did_ remember Galidraan. Every last detail. He remembered the way the snow crunched underfoot, the way the chilly winds were somehow able to penetrate even the smallest gaps between the plates of his _beskar’gam_ to cut through to the bone even through his thermoregulating bodysuit. Jango remembered the way that the white snow was turned black by stray blaster bolts and soaked red with blood. He remembered the smell of charred clothing and burning flesh as he and the other _Haat Mando’ade_ had brought out their flamethrowers, once they realized the _Jetiise_ would simply keep deflecting their blaster bolts right back at them.

And Jango remembered the _Jetiise_ . He remembered the way they all stood tall and proud, as though their spines were made of durasteel rods, holding their _Jetii’kad’e_ at the ready before they _pounced_ . He remembered the way that they felt--like the eye of a storm, calm within, but merely waiting to unleash destruction. He remembered the looks in their eyes, how they had almost _pitied_ Jango and his people even as they cut them down, one by one.

The _Jetiise_ hadn’t hated the _Haat Mando’ade_ , but they had slaughtered them anyway. Jango thought that made it worse, somehow, the fact that it seemed to have meant so little to them to kill his _vod’e_.

That day marked the first and only time that Jango had ever encountered a _Jetii_ , but it had left a lasting impression. And it was likely due to Galidraan that he was able to clock the man at the bar as a _Jetii_ when no one else did.

He was dressed appropriately, the usual beige robes they wore replaced by tight dark pants, tall boots, a green shirt, and a dark brown synthleather jacket to match the pants. His copper hair was kept short, but with a fringe falling just so across his forehead, and red stubble covered his cheeks. Between the man’s appearance, his casual slouch against the bar, and the way he kept one hand resting on the blaster at his hip as he waited for his drink, the other occupants had taken one look and dismissed him with only a few lingering stares, likely because he was an attractive man.

But Jango _knew_ , somehow, deep in his bones, that he was a _Jetii_ . Maybe it was that same sense, like this man was at the eye of a storm, great and terrible power just waiting to be set loose, but somehow, Jango _knew_.

What the man was doing on Socorro, of all the planets, was another question entirely. The little out of the way world was a haven for smugglers and other less-than-legal types, and it had been largely left alone by the Republic and the _Jetiise_. If there was an investigation going on…

But it mattered little to Jango. He was just here until he found his next job, not even doing anything illegal.

Well, not at the _moment_.

He clenched his jaw and wrapped his hand around his drink just a bit too firmly, wishing that he had worn his _beskar’gam_ instead of the rough trader’s clothes he’d chosen to be more inconspicuous. Funnily enough, his clothing was nearly a match for the _Jetii_ ’s. Jango took a deep breath in through his nose and turned his attention back to his drink, staring down into it. All he had to do was finish it, and then leave. He _knew_ that the _Jetiise_ and the Republic had eventually realized their mistake, and that they had made what amends they could to Mandalore. This _Jetii_ wasn’t here to hunt him down.

At least, not for Galidraan. What he’d been doing _lately_ , however...

Snorting softly to himself, Jango picked up his drink and downed the rest of it in one go. He made to stand when another was placed before him. He jerked his head up, eyes narrowing--

And there was the _Jetii_ , looking at him intently, holding his own drink. A smile tugged at his lips, but did not quite reach his eyes. Jango scowled at him and folded his arms over his chest.

“Hello there,” the man said. He had a strange accent, especially for a _Jetii_ . It was _almost_ prim and proper Core, but rougher, like he’d spent a long time away. He gestured toward the seat he was standing beside. “May I?”

“Makes no difference to me,” Jango said. “I was just leaving.”

“I think you might want to hear what I have to tell you,” the man said, setting the drink down. Slowly, he crossed his right hand, formed into a fist, over his chest, and murmured, “ _Mand’alor_.”

Jango sucked in a breath, and then snarled at him. “Not anymore. Your people saw to that.”

The _Jetii_ dropped his hand and shook his head, such _sadness_ in his eyes that Jango was taken aback. The _Jetiise_ on Galidraan had seemed… unfeeling, the only emotion they displayed having been that gut-wrenching _pity_ as they mowed his people down.

“You will always carry that title,” he murmured. He sat down slowly, and Jango thought about getting up and walking out, but… if a _Jetii_ had come to Socorro for _him_ , he needed to know why. Scowling, he raised an eyebrow at him.

“What do you want from me?”

“Well, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here for _you_ ,” the man said, a half-smile crossing his face, some of the ice receding from his eyes, leaving them a lighter swirling blue-green-grey. “This is just a convenient stop-over for me. But when I realized you were here, I thought I might invite you along.”

Jango blinked at him. “You want to hire me.”

The man shrugged. “In the crudest terms, yes.”

“First of all, isn’t that against your Code? And second, it’s a moot point,” Jango spat. “I won’t work with a _Jetii_.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “The Code is… more flexible than some may realize,” he said. “Especially out this far from the Republic. And it would be to our mutual advantage, that I can promise.”

“I may be a bounty hunter now, but a bit of coin isn’t going to overcome my hatred for you,” Jango said flatly. The man shook his head.

“I’m not offering ‘a bit of coin,’” he said, and then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose I _am_ , but I’m also offering far more than that.” He leaned forward, resting his left arm on the table, looking at Jango as though he were the only person in existence. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the Order is no longer on the best of terms with the Trade Federation. That means that we have a common enemy, now.”

Jango frowned at him. “What do you think I have against the Federation?”

The redhead blinked, and then sat back in his chair. He shook his head and reached for his drink, draining a generous portion before setting it down slowly. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” Jango growled.

“They’re funding _Kyr’tsad_. They have been since well before Galidraan.”

Jango’s heart skipped a beat. That… explained a lot. _If_ it was true. _Kyr’tsad_ had always seemed to have more resources than made sense, always somehow getting their hands on enough _beskar_ or durasteel for their armor even when no one in Mandalorian space would sell it to them, always showing up with more and more ships despite how many raids the _Haat Mando’ade_ had managed, either capturing them or blowing them up, always toting around the newest and most deadly blasters…

“Do you have proof?”

“Of course,” the man said softly. “Several years ago, I wondered why the Senate had failed to acknowledge _Kyr’tsad_ as a terrorist organization. The basis of the argument was that Mandalore was not a part of the Republic, and so they had no business in the planet’s affairs. They conveniently ‘forgot’ that _Kyr’tsad_ was _not_ restricting itself to Mandalorian space, of course. And there had been other systems who were not part of the Republic where such acknowledgements were made. They seemed to forget that as well.

“When I looked into it, I found that the Trade Federation lobbied heavily against the motion. The connections grew more obvious, after that. The Trade Federation has invested heavily in MandalMotors over the last thirty years, and a quick and… _discrete_ peek into their finances showed that MandalMotors has, in turn, been sending a not insignificant portion of their profits to House Vizla.” The man paused to take another drink, and then sat back in his chair, head tilted thoughtfully. “I did pass the information on to Duke Kryze. I had assumed you would have spoken to him.”

Jango said nothing to that. He couldn’t think of anything _to_ say. This _Jetii_ had just laid bare the entire mechanism by which _Kyr’tsad_ operated, like it was _nothing_ , like it should have been _easy_ to figure out--

He realized, then, that it probably had been. Jango hadn’t bothered to _look_ . He’d spent years as a _slave_ , unwillingly drugged up to his neck in spice, and it had accomplished exactly what the Governor had wanted it to, what _Kyr’tsad_ had wanted it to--Jango had broken. He’d _given up_.

“And what sort of plan do you have that you think I might want to help you with?”

The man’s lips twitched in a smile, but his eyes were flinty--not quite the same _sad_ coldness, more like… the promise of danger. It sent a bit of a thrill down Jango’s spine, and his jaw clenched.

“ _Kyr’tsad_ is not the Federation’s only unsavory ally,” he said. “After Socorro, I’m heading to Tatooine. The Hutts there do a bountiful trade with the Federation. The plan, in short, is to free their slaves, seize their spice and water, and drive them back to Nal Hutta. Or blast them into oblivion, should they decline to go.” The man shrugged as though it made little difference to him.

Jango stared at him, and then he snorted, shaking his head. “ _Di’kutla Jetii_ ,” he said flatly. “That’s a terrible plan.”

The man laughed. “Well, there is more to it than that. But I won’t bore you with the details, not unless you’d like to help.” Jango frowned at him, and the man held up a hand, shaking his head. “Take your time. I’ll be here for a few days, waiting for a… friend of mine. Look into what I’ve told you before you make your decision. And…” He leaned forward. “I will make you this promise. Whether you help me or not, I _will_ see Pre Vizla and the rest of _Kyr’tsad_ … defeated. If you don’t get there first, of course.” The _Jetii_ gave him a lopsided smile and then stood.

And there was something… personal in the declaration. For some reason, this _Jetii_ **_hated_ ** Pre Vizla. So much so that Jango almost thought, for a moment, that this _Jetii_ had almost promised to kill them.

“Who _are_ you?” Jango asked. The man shrugged.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

 _No-One, Child of Nothing_ , Jango translated easily. It was a common name, on Stewjon, given to children who were rejected by their _aliit_ . The idea rankled: children were sacred, to the _Mando’ade_. They were to be cherished and protected--not thrown out, or cast aside.

And then it hit him--this was the _Jetii_ from Naboo, the one who’d cut down a man who was rumored to be a _Sith_ . Jango thought, fleetingly, of Kamino, and the shadowy figure who’d recruited him claiming to represent the Senate, and he wondered, for the first time, if that man had been a Sith Lord. He knew about the control chips and the orders that they contained, and he _knew_ about Operation Knightfall--it had been the _reason_ he’d agreed. The chance to pay the _Jetiise_ back in kind, wiping them out as _they_ had wiped out the _Haat Mando’ade_ had been tempting, _more_ than tempting, and the credits and promise of a legacy had done the rest of the convincing.

But if the Sith were working with the Federation, and the Federation was supporting _Kyr’tsad_ … Hels, Jango’s own pay for the Kamino job was sent from Federation accounts.

For the first time, Jango wondered if he was angry with the right people.

“I’ll be back here in three days,” the _Jetii_ \--Kenobi--said. “If you decide you’d like to help, meet me here. If not, don’t fret. I won’t be chasing after you.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Jango with the untouched drink Kenobi had brought him and too many thoughts to make sense of.

* * *

It took Jango seven steps to go from one end of _Slave I_ ’s cargo hold to the other. He had long ago lost track of time, and so he had no idea how long he had been pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw sore from grinding his teeth.

His first reaction at what the _Jetii_ had revealed had been disbelief, but that had been quickly discounted. It was too easily verifiable, and the man wouldn’t risk lying about something so easily debunked. No, Jango had quickly shed his doubt, although he would still do his due diligence and verify the information.

Jango’s second reaction had been anger. _Fury_ , as a matter of fact. He was furious with the Federation, for so callously aiding those who had terrorized his people for so long. He was furious with MandalMotors for turning their back on what it meant to _be_ _Mando’ade_. They had such a long history on Mandalore--over a thousand years, in fact--and for them to support _Kyr’tsad_ spat in the face of everything they had worked for.

But more than that, Jango was furious with himself. He had _given up_ , turned his back on Mandalore and his title. All that he had had _left_ for so long had been his hatred of the _Jetiise_ , but now… The realization that he had spent too long being _angry_ at the wrong people was galling. It had been _Kyr’tsad_ who had been the true puppet masters on Galidraan, after all, as much as that pained Jango to admit.

He could have gone back to _Manda’yaim_ when he’d been freed. Jango could have gone to Concord Dawn, even. He could have rallied whatever might be left of those who were _mandokarla_ , however few they might now be. By the _ka’ra_ , he could have gone _himself_ to fight _Kyr’tsad_ . Even if it had been a suicide run, it would have been _something_.

Jango halted his steps with a small growl, shaking his head. He was going around in circles. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his commlink before he could change his mind, keying in the old code and hoping it hadn’t changed.

It took over two minutes for the call to be answered, and Jango almost hung up. But soon enough, the image resolved, shimmering blue, and Jango stared at Duke Adonai Kryze. He looked older, lines carved by stress and worry showing on his face, and even over the monochrome image, Jango could see the sorrow in his eyes.

“ _Jorad’alor_ ,” Jango greeted him gruffly, bowing his head for a moment.

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” the Duke said finally. “I had hoped you were alive, after we heard your _beskar’gam_ had disappeared. But we have heard nothing but rumors.”

Jango quirked an eyebrow, but did not respond to that. “I need to verify some information.”

“Alright,” Duke Kryze said slowly. “What can I do for you?”

“I need anything you have on the Trade Federation, MandalMotors, and House Vizla.”

“Ah,” Kryze hummed, a small smile crossing his face. “So you do intend to return to us?”

“A _Jetii_ told me an interesting story,” Jango answered slowly. “For now, I’m only… following up.”

“I see,” Kryze said. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, I take it?” Jango nodded. “He is a good man. He and his Master spent a year here some time ago, protecting my younger daughter.” Kryze chuckled. “I believe Satine still carries quite a torch for him.”

And that, at least, explained why Kenobi seemed invested in Mandalore, why he would have looked into the matter of _Kyr’tsad_ at all.

“It’s true, then?” Jango asked, and Kryze sighed.

“It is. Not that we can _prove_ anything, or we would have acted long before now,” Kryze answered. “All we can prove is a financial tie between House Vizla and MandalMotors, and their connection to the Trade Federation. But we’ve never been able to find evidence tying House Vizla to _Kyr’tsad_ strong enough to take to court.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. If _he_ had evidence enough that House Vizla was allied with _Kyr’tsad_ , he wouldn’t be taking them to _court_ . He would settle it with his blaster, as a _Mando_.

Kryze continued, pretending as though he had not noticed Jango’s arch look, “But between the financial ties and other circumstantial evidence, I have little doubt that Pre Vizla is following in his father’s footsteps.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Can you send the intel to this commlink?”

“Of course,” Kryze agreed, and then he paused. “Do you intend to do something with it?”

Jango took a deep breath. “If _Kyr’tsad_ truly does have the backing of the Federation, then there is a much larger game in play than it might seem,” he said carefully. He thought of the _Kaminiise_ and the army they were creating, an army that would bear his _face_ , and the Sith he was now beginning to suspect were behind it. A Sith had stood with the Trade Federation on Naboo, and the Trade Federation was funding _Kyr’tsad_ , and…

Jango did not know on whose side that put him, on whose side he should _be_ . And if he had allied himself, even unknowingly, with those who were allies with _Kyr’tsad_ , then how could he ever reclaim the title of _Mand’alor_?

“I understand,” Kryze said slowly. “But please know this: our people would welcome you back. We need our _Mand’alor_.”

Jango nodded, stone-faced. “We will speak again, _Jorad’alor_.”

It was as much as he was willing to commit to, and it made something unpleasant _twist_ in his gut as he saw the way that even that meager promise was enough to make Kryze’s shoulders slump in relief.

“ _Vor entye, ner Mand’alor_.”

* * *

Three days passed quickly. Jango spent most of his time on _Slave I_ , reading over the account logs Duke Kryze had sent over. When those had been exhausted, he had hesitated for only a moment before pulling up everything he could find on the ‘Net about Tatooine.

Jango waited until late afternoon on the third day to head to the bar. When he entered, he immediately spotted Kenobi, seated at the same table in the back corner, not far from the exit into the kitchen, his back to the wall. Kenobi looked up and smiled at him. Jango scowled back, but strode towards the table.

“I’m glad you came,” Kenobi said, and Jango blinked at the genuine, warm tone. Slowly, he lowered himself down into the chair across from him, angling it so that he could still see most of the bar. He set his _buy’ce_ on the table--he’d come in full armor, since this was now officially a job, however strange it might be. “I take it you were able to verify what I told you?”

“Yes.” Kenobi nodded and turned to the bar, gesturing at the bartender for another drink.

“We can speak about that later,” Kenobi told him, turning back fully to Jango. “My friend should be here momentarily, and we’ll get started on the finer details of our assault plan for Tatooine.”

Jango nodded. Conversation paused as another figure approached their table, and Jango looked up--

“Hondo?” He frowned up at the Weequay. Hondo was dressed as flamboyantly as ever, with his long coat and goggles, an overly large blaster on his hip and his lizard-monkey pet perched on his shoulder.

“Eh?” The pirate looked from Jango to Kenobi, and then back again, and then he threw his head back and laughed. “Hello there! How good it is to see that my friends are also friends with each other.” Still smiling broadly, Hondo turned back to accept the full bottle of brandy and two empty glasses from the bartender before throwing himself down into the third chair at the table.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted,” Kenobi said, raising an eyebrow.

Hondo nodded eagerly, dramatically pulling the cork from the bottle and pouring generously for both himself and Jango before topping off Kenobi’s drink.

“We met, eh, two years ago?” Hondo began, looking to Jango for confirmation. He nodded stiffly. “Yes, it’s been a little while, my friend! We found ourselves raiding the same spice freighter. I wanted the spice, and Jango wanted to free their slaves.”

Something like _recognition_ and _understanding_ flickered in Kenobi’s eyes, and Jango stiffened. Kenobi turned to Jango with a small smirk.

“How very noble of you.”

Jango snorted, but did not refute that assertion. He wasn’t about to admit to Kenobi that he himself had been held as a slave on that spice freighter since Galidraan, and he had taken the opportunity of Hondo’s attack to free himself. And, truthfully, it _had_ been one of his more… “noble” moments. He had gotten his collar off and reached the hold where the fighters were kept, and he could have jumped in and just left. Jango almost _had_ left, in fact, until his guilt had gotten the better of him. He had spent a decade with the other slaves, and whatever remained of his moral code, his dedication to Mando values, wouldn’t allow him to turn his back on them.

When Hondo had realized what he was doing, the pirate had jauntily offered his help in killing the crew, for a small trade of the spice they were hauling. Then he had easily agreed to give the ship to the slaves to get them back to wherever they needed to go, and left them in relative peace. Overall, it had been… comforting, in a sense. Jango had lost so much faith in the galaxy, after Galidraan, after being left to be a slave for almost a decade--for the first interaction with anyone outside that slave ship to be to help them, to decry slavery…

Hondo might be annoying, at times, with his over-the-top flamboyance, but he was… good.

“And how does a pirate make friends with a _Jetii_?” Jango asked, folding his arms over his chest. Hondo’s grin widened even further.

“Ah, yes, well… I found myself on Jedha at the same time Kenobi was there,” Hondo began. “I was hoping to, ah, _liberate_ some of the crystals from their temple--”

“‘Liberate’ through theft, of course,” Kenobi added, and Hondo shrugged.

“It is the way of things, my friend. In any case, Kenobi caught me and my crew attempting to enter the temple, guessed our plans--”

Kenobi snorted, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly. “You were trying to break directly into the vault from the outside with a giant _drill_. You were hardly being subtle.”

“Yes, yes,” Hondo sighed, waving his hand. “He so _kindly_ informed me that it would be wiser to turn our attentions to another quarry, and suggested a _very_ profitable ship that would take far less effort to raid.”

“I warned him that the Guardians of the Whills will kill anyone who tries to steal a kyber crystal, and suggested he use his time on Jedha to raid a pleasure cruiser that had docked for a shore excursion to allow the passengers to see the temple,” Kenobi said dryly. Jango’s eyebrow ticked up, and Kenobi shrugged. “The pleasure cruiser employed slaves, and was owned by the Federation.”

“It was a most profitable and satisfying interaction--we freed the, ah, _sentient_ cargo, and our boon was admirable,” Hondo said, nodding happily. “When my dear friend commed with another proposition, how could I have possibly declined?”

“I see,” Jango said, and then he turned back to Kenobi. “So what _is_ the plan?”

“We’ll begin by disabling the chips in several of the slaves who hold key positions in the Hutts’ courts,” Kenobi began. “They have a remarkable amount of access within their strongholds. From there, we will have them disable the controls for the rest of the chips, which will gain us a great deal of willing and able fighters.” Jango nodded slowly. He knew, from experience, what a slave would do as soon as they were told they would no longer be blown up if they attacked their master. “At the same time, we will ask them to bring down the security shields around the Hutt strongholds, allowing us inside to… negotiate. Hondo’s forces can be split between providing air support and storming the gates. Ideally, we should go for a coordinated assault on all of the strongholds so there’s no time for any of them to become suspicious.”

Jango snorted, knowing exactly what he meant by that. “A neat little plan, but there is one problem.”

“Yes, I know,” Kenobi said, nodding. “Jabba is paranoid beyond the rest of them, the result of too much spice, I suspect. In any case, he does not allow his slaves near the more critical systems. I have a plan for that as well.” He paused, a little smirk blossoming on his face. “Did you know that there’s a bounty on me?”

“Ha!” Hondo cried cheerfully. “I am not surprised, my friend. You seem like the sort to get into… trouble.”

“Yes, well, as much as I… dislike the Federation, they seem to have taken it quite personally themselves,” Kenobi said breezily. “The conditions of the bounty stipulate that I must be returned alive, at least. They also say that I may be turned in to the nearest Federation official, or the nearest Hutt.”

“Oh,” Hondo said, eyes widening as realization dawned. “You would like to pretend to be captured? What an entertaining plan!”

“You’d trust us enough for that?” Jango asked, frowning, and Kenobi shrugged.

“I’m willing to take a leap of faith,” Kenobi answered. “Besides, if you _did_ decide to turn in the bounty, rather than continuing with our plans, I’ve found myself in worse scrapes. I’ll be fine.” He gave them a smile that was far too innocent to be genuine, and Jango frowned. “And while most of the wealth we take from the Hutts will go towards the people of Tatooine, your shares will be far more than the 1.5 million credits the bounty is worth.”

“1.5 _million_ ?” Jango repeated, blinking at him. “What in the Hels did you _do_?”

Kenobi shrugged. “3 million, actually. I thought you two might split it, rather than making enemies of each other,” he said, tone still light. “As for what I did… well, my Master and I ended their occupation of Naboo, our companion destroyed one of their Luchrehulk class droid control ships, we got their entire franchise involved in an active Senate investigation, and I killed the Sith assassin they were working with.” 

“That is enough to piss someone off,” Hondo agreed, looking at him a bit more seriously than normal. “You are not concerned about this?”

“I can handle bounty hunters,” Kenobi said, giving Jango another smirk. “Especially since I doubt you’ll be trying to cash in.”

Jango just shook his head slowly. “You’re… insane,” he said slowly. “Completely insane.”

Kenobi laughed. “Well, you aren’t wrong about that. But what do you say? Any objections to the plan?”

Hondo and Jango looked at each other, Hondo raising an eyebrow and smiling widely, baring his teeth, and Jango shrugged.

“I reserve the right to bail if this gets too karked,” Jango said flatly, and Kenobi laughed brightly.

“No plan survives contact with the enemy,” he said, and Jango froze. That was _his_ phrase, a mantra that he’d learned at Jaster’s side, and to hear it falling from the lips of a _Jetii_ so easily was… jarring. He knew it wasn’t _exclusive_ to them, of course, but… even so, something about the way that he said it was so karking _familiar_. It was… unsettling. “But even so, I’m hopeful about our chances.”

“Alright, my friend,” Hondo said. “For, say… twenty percent of the Hutts’ assets, my crew and I are in.” Kenobi nodded and turned to Jango, who grimaced and downed his drink in one go.

“Fine,” he said. “Five percent.”

Kenobi smiled at them all and gestured for Hondo to refill their glasses. He did so eagerly, and then Kenobi raised his.

“To new partnerships,” he said brightly, and with one side-eyed look at Jango, he added, “ _K’oyacyi_!”

Jango echoed the cheer and clinked his glass with the other three, even as he wondered what in the name of the _ka’ra_ he was getting himself into.

* * *

They met again on Tatooine, the three of them taking their own ships. The landing coordinates that Kenobi had given him put them just outside of Mos Espa, one of the smaller port cities, hidden by a ridge of dunes. As he was instructed, Jango made his way out of _Slave I_ and towards the smaller of the two ships. Hondo’s was familiar to him, but the mid-sized freighter, dotted with bits of radiation char here and there, and a couple of carbon scores, is not. As he got closer, he saw the name painted on it and couldn't keep his lips from quirking: _Prudii_ . Looking closer, Jango wouldn’t be surprised if it had a cloaking device to match the name. For all that it _looked_ like an unassuming freighter, he could see that there had been extensive modifications done.

He stopped and knocked on the side of the ship, the ramp extending only a moment later. Jango took the obvious invitation, stepping up into the ship and removing his _buy’ce_ as the ramp slid back up and the door shut behind him. Kenobi was standing just a few feet away, tucking his _Jetii’kad_ into a specially designed pocket in the sleeve of his synthleather jacket. He looked up and gave Jango an easy smile.

“Would you like to talk about Mandalore now, or go meet the lynchpin in our plans?” Kenobi asked evenly, and Jango frowned.

“Let’s go.”

He couldn’t talk about Mandalore, not yet. Not while he was on a job. Jango knew what they were in for, going up against the Hutts, and he couldn’t afford to have his focus divided. Kenobi nodded, the easy smile still on his face.

“You’ll want to put that back on,” Kenobi told him, gesturing to his bucket. Jango nodded and stuffed it back on his head, following Kenobi back out of the ship and into the sweltering heat. The twin suns were high overhead, and Jango was grateful for the thermal regulation of his bodysuit.

Beneath the cover of his _buy’ce_ , Jango was able to watch Kenobi openly. He led them straight up the dunes, not struggling in the slightest with the sand, and into town. He wove through the back alleys between the low stucco buildings with the ease of someone who knew their terrain and knew it well, and the two of them emerged into an open market area in short order. Fabric sunshades rose above the stalls, the consistent hum that came from many people speaking at once rang through the square, and people of various degrees of wealth, from off-worlders wearing armor or leathers just like they were to obvious slaves, milled about.

Kenobi stepped up to a fruit vendor’s stall. The woman was old, her face lined and cracked by the sun, her hair having long ago turned white, and she sported a gap-toothed smile. But her eyes were kind. Kenobi said something too low for Jango to make out, and the woman touched her hand to her lips, and then to her heart.

Jango knew that motion. Not all slave cultures were identical, but there were certain universal gestures and stories. It was the sign of a name, recognized as Amavikka, and made by all of the Amavikka. This woman may not be a slave _now_ , but she _had been_ , at one point.

His thoughts were cut off as Kenobi accepted one of the fruits from her, and then pressed something small into her hand. The woman narrowed her eyes and tried to hand it back, but Kenobi only shook his head and gestured to Jango to continue following him.

They left the market behind, winding through another set of alleys--and Jango was grateful for the shade cast by the buildings on either side--until they came upon what were clearly living quarters. _Slave_ ’s quarters, Jango thought, judging from the state of the slum. He followed Kenobi up the path to one particular dwelling, and he knocked and waited.

The door opened, just a crack, just enough for Jango to see a woman peering out. Her face was tanned from exposure to the brilliant suns, and she had lines on her face--both from smiling and from sadness, Jango thought. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowed, carefully assessing them.

“Lady Skywalker,” Kenobi greeted her, nodding. Jango suspected he would have bowed, if he wasn’t trying not to look like a _Jetii_. “May we come in?”

“Who are you?” she asked, and Jango frowned. This woman was their contact, but had no idea who he _was_? That was… not a promising start.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Just as it had for Jango, his name sparked recognition, and she nodded, stepping back to open the door wider. Jango followed, stepping into the home. His _buy’ce_ automatically adjusted to the dim light inside, and he glanced around. It was a small home: there was a kitchen with a battered wooden table and mismatched chairs, a sitting room of sorts that would hold maybe three or four people at a time with low, worn cushions scattered about the floor, and then a hallway, leading off towards what Jango assumed were the bedrooms and ‘fresher.

He turned back to the woman. She was clearly a slave, with her simple, undyed shift dress, belted around her waist. Her dark hair was twisted up, pinned back and out of the way. She stood tall and proud, her head held high, her shoulders back, and Jango was glad to see it. Too many slaves were beaten down, until they gave up.

Just like he did.

Jango scowled and forced the thought away. Not helpful, not right now. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“You are Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice?” the woman asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, smiling gently at her.

“I was,” he answered. “I’ve been Knighted.”

She smiled a bit nervously, a bit tightly. “My congratulations.” She shifted slightly, glancing to Jango. “And who is this?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled off his _buy’ce_ , tucking it under his left arm. “Jango Fett, ma’am.”

She nodded slowly. “I am Shmi Skywalker. I’m pleased to meet you both. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Kenobi answered, and Jango shook his head minutely. Shmi relaxed somewhat; their water was precious, and though she was willing to share what little she had, she was relieved when they were polite enough to decline.

Shmi shifted slightly, nervous again, and looked at Kenobi with a hopeful expression. “Do you have any news about Anakin?”

Kenobi smiled broadly. “I do, as a matter of fact. He’s been accepted into the creche as an Initiate. He’s doing very well in his new clan, making friends his age and taking classes.” He chuckled. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that he’s in Advanced Mechanics.”

Shmi smiled too, a bit wistfully. “I’m glad. He’s alright?”

“He is,” Kenobi assured him. “As a matter of fact, I thought I might arrange for you to call him tonight.” Shmi’s eyes lit up, and she brought one shaking hand to her mouth.

“I… Truly? Can we?”

“Of course,” Kenobi assured her. “I had a friend in the Temple give him a commlink so that you may call whenever you like.” He drew another commlink out of his belt and held it out to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Shmi slowly reached out to take it, cradling it to her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes growing wet. “Thank you.”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “There is another reason we’ve come.”

“Oh?” Shmi asked, blinking away the tears before they could fall.

“I know Master Qui-Gon said that our mission was not to free slaves,” Kenobi said, still grinning widely. “But mine is, now.”

Shmi blinked at him, and then looked to Jango, and then back again. “I… truly?”

“We’re here to help you start a revolution,” Jango said, and Shmi looked at him, expression blank, for a long moment. Finally, she laughed brightly-- _hopefully_.

“Please, sit,” Shmi invited them, gesturing to the table, “and tell me how I can help.”

* * *

Jango waited until they went back to the _Prudii_ to again remove his bucket and fix Kenobi with a questioning stare. The meeting with Shmi had gone well, and taken several hours as they hammered out the details and figured out which slaves would be best to approach.

“Who’s Anakin?” Jango asked, and that same broad grin reappeared on Kenobi’s face. Whoever the kid was, Kenobi liked him a lot.

“Shmi’s son,” Kenobi answered, and Jango raised an eyebrow. That much he’d figured out for himself, but it didn’t explain what had happened. “My Master and I were stranded here on Tatooine, during the Naboo mission. We were trying to take the Queen and her entourage back to Coruscant to make their plea to the Senate, but our hyperdrive was damaged. We landed here, and my Master found Anakin while trying to find the parts for the ship. Anakin is… exceptionally strong with the Force. If he’d been born in the Republic, he would have been with the Jedi nearly from birth.” Jango clenched his jaw, but nodded for Kenobi to keep going. “Anyway, after a very tense and convoluted round of betting from my Master, Anakin won the Boonta Eve, which secured the parts for our ship as well as his freedom.”

Jango blinked. “I thought I’d heard something about a kid winning a pod race.” His expression twisted. “And your _Jetii_ Master bet all everything on the race?

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did,” Kenobi sighed. “Master Qui-Gon is very… adept at following the Will of the Force alone. Even above _logic_ , at times.” He shook his head ruefully, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A rhythmic beeping sounded then and Kenobi looked down at the blinking light on his commlink. “Speak of the devil.” He smiled and clicked the channel open. “Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan!” a young, _loud_ voice rang out. “Obi, I don’t know how you did it, but _thank you_.”

Obi-Wan laughed lightly. “You’re very welcome, Anakin. Did you speak to your mother already?”

“Uh-huh,” Anakin sniffed. “She said she’s proud of me and she loves me.”

“I’m glad, Ani,” Kenobi said softly. They passed a moment in soft silence, and Jango felt like he was intruding on something deeply personal. “Listen, I have to go, but keep the comm on you, alright? I’ll call you later.”

“‘Kay. Bye, Obi.”

He closed the connection and looked back up at Jango. His smile was soft, but his eyes looked like he was staring at something parsecs away. Jango knew that look--that was grief. Remembrance. The reaction didn’t really fit with what had just happened, and Jango frowned. As though sensing his confusion--could _Jetii_ do that?--Kenobi shook himself out of it, his smile brightening again.

“Well, that was Anakin,” Kenobi said needlessly, and Jango snorted.

“So you took a child away from his mother to go back to your Temple,” Jango said flatly. Kenobi winced.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kenobi said softly, “and how you must feel about the Order. I don’t blame you. What happened to you and the _Haat Mando’ade_ was… horrible. The fact that the Order didn’t _know_ that you were innocent excuses _nothing_ . Since when are the Jedi simply a _tool_ of the Senate? Since when do we become executioners on their _orders alone_ ?” Kenobi stopped, shaking his head. His eyes shone. Jango realized that he was shaking. “ _Ni ceta._ ”

His head snapped up at the Mando’a, and Jango stared blankly at Kenobi for a long moment.

“I’m going back to my ship,” he said. His voice seemed to scrape its way out of his throat, the words raspy, and he slammed his bucket back down on his head before leaving so that Kenobi wouldn’t see the way his mouth tightened and his chin quivered ever-so-slightly.

* * *

When Jango returned to Kenobi’s ship the next morning, let in just as easily as he had been the day before, Kenobi was on another comm call. The holoimage of an older man was projected from a larger comm than the wrist-link Kenobi was wearing. He wore the typical tunics and robes of the _Jetii_ , and Jango felt himself tense. He had long hair, the top half pulled back, a strong, crooked nose, and a neat beard.

“Who is this then?” the _Jetii_ asked. Jango said nothing.

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn, meet Jango Fett,” Kenobi said, smiling slightly. The Master blinked at him, and then looked back to Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan, what is going on?” Jango smirked under his bucket at the man’s tone, like that of an exasperated father. “Are you on Mandalore again?”

“No,” Kenobi answered simply. “I told you, this is all very hush-hush. Council’s orders.”

Jinn pursed his lips and shook his head. “One of these days, Padawan mine, we will have _words_ about that excuse.”

“When it ceases to be the truth, perhaps,” Kenobi returned breezily. “In any case, his arrival means it’s time for me to go, Master.”

The man softened. “May the Force be with you.”

Kenobi’s smile was fond. “And also with you.” He knelt down reached forward to flick the projector off, and Jango removed his helmet, staring intently at Kenobi.

“I don’t like the _Jetii_ ,” Jango announced, and Kenobi blinked at him. Jango got the sense that Kenobi wouldn’t address what he’d said the night before, that he would have been willing to let it lie, at least for now, but… Jango had to say this. If they were going to be working together-- _ka’ra_ help him--then they needed to… clear the air. “I spent a very long time hating all of you for Galidraan. But I know… I know that it was _Kyr’tsad_ . And we… _I_ fell into their trap just as much as you _Jetii_ did.” Jango shifted slightly, clenching his jaw for a moment before continuing. “I may know all of that, but I’ve hated all of you for a very long time. I can’t change that in the space of a few days.”

Kenobi nodded slowly, his lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “I understand. Thank you.”

Jango nodded once to declare the subject finished. “What’s the plan for the day?”

“Well, Hondo’s jut left,” Kenobi said. “There is a conveniently close Federation ship that just so happens to be carrying weapons. He’s going to ‘liberate’ them for us.” Jango snorted, but nodded. Smart. This way they wouldn’t have to rely on the slaves stealing weapons from the Hutts when the time came. “And I thought that you and I would begin training as many as we can.” Again, Jango nodded. It was a good move. They could evaluate who would be the most useful and who would need protection. “They’ll come and go in shifts, and never very many at one time--large gatherings draw too much attention. Whoever is off shift will come find us, and then rotate out.”

“What’s your projection?” Jango asked, and Kenobi’s lips quirked as he easily translated: how shit were they going to be?

“Some of them will be fairly good,” Kenobi assured him. “Many of them, even. Quite a few of the slaves on Tatooine came from among the old Trading Clans, before the Federation took over and sold them to the Hutts in the first place.” Jango scowled at that; there was _nothing_ those _hu’tuun’e_ wouldn’t do to get ahead, was there? “Despite their enslavement, they’ve carried on what traditions they can, including self-defense, even though that is supposedly ‘forbidden.’” Jango nodded. “As for the others… they’ll have plenty of healers among them, at least.” Jango quirked an eyebrow, clearly hearing what _wasn’t_ said: that the rest of them would be nigh useless in a fight. He nodded slowly.

“Fine,” he said. “When do we start?”

Kenobi smiled. “Now. Let’s get going.”

* * *

Kenobi led them to the house of the old woman whose fruit stand he’d stopped at the day before.

“Ma Jira,” the old woman introduced herself. “They’re down in the cellar.”

Kenobi smiled and squeezed her hand before leading Jango down the steps to the cellar. It was a large space, blessedly cooler than it was topside, and Jango wouldn’t be surprised if it was originally shared with the building nextdoor, although there were no other steps. A gaggle of five people--three human men and two human women--waited for them, speaking quietly. They all had the same tanned skin, dark hair, and weary faces, but they had a fire in their eyes as they looked at Jango that he liked.

“I’m Ben,” Kenobi introduced himself, and then he looked to Jango, silently asking if he wished to use a different name.

“Jango,” he supplied, not taking off his helmet.

“And how do we know we can trust you, and this isn’t some sort of test from our masters?” one of the girls asked, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Saiya--” another of the girls hissed. “ _Ma Jira_ trusts them. You should, too.” The girl, Saiya, continued to stare at them, unmoving. Kenobi frowned.

“We are not Depur,” he said softly. “The chain has not yet been made that cannot be broken. We are here to help you break your chains, as mighty Leia did.”

The five of them stopped, staring at Kenobi. Jango stared too. Those stories were _sacred_ . They were as sacred to Jango as the _Resol’nare_ , as his _beskar’gam_ , and all of the Amavikka knew that they were not told to _outsiders_.

“Did someone tell you a story?” Saiya asked, a heavy hint of suspicion in her voice still. Kenobi nodded. “And why did they tell you the story?”

“To save my life,” Kenobi answered, completing the ritual. Saiya nodded slowly.

“Alright. What would you ask of us?”

The five of them were far more cooperative, after that, and they quickly found that these five were all cousins from the Trading Clans. They had been born into slavery, but their parents taught them everything they could of their ways. Their hand-to-hand was passable, and they were used to working cooperatively, rather than brawling, which would help. Jango allowed them all to practice with his blasters, his pistol, and his vibroblade. They weren’t half bad shots, either. Jango’s odds on their survival went up a bit.

Kenobi spent the few hours they were with them practicing their hand-to-hand and helping Jango teach them how to aim more accurately, how to hold their stance, how to duck in and out of cover. Jango kept half an eye on Kenobi even as he watched their first five students. Kenobi was a patient teacher, firm but encouraging, and he was able to quickly coax good results out of them.

They had a short break, Saiya told them, before any others came. They wouldn’t want to make it too obvious, after all, five going out and another five going in. They left one by one, and then Jango was alone with Kenobi.

“That went well,” Kenobi said, sounding pleased, a hint of a smile on his face. Jango stared at him, and Kenobi tilted his head. “Whatever it is you’d like to ask, go ahead.”

Jango slowly pulled off his bucket, still staring at Kenobi. Finally, he murmured, “How long were you a slave?”

Kenobi’s smile disappeared, his eyes going stormy grey, and Jango almost regretted the question, but he felt as though he _had_ to know the answer.

“Cumulatively, about… a year, I’d guess. Perhaps a little more,” Kenobi answered. Jango frowned.

“Cumulatively?”

“Yes,” Kenobi sighed. “I have been sold into slavery numerous times. Trained Force sensitives are worth quite a bit on the black market.”

 _Oh_ . Jango _knew_ that _Jetiise_ were just _people_ , that they all started out as children, that they all came from _somewhere_ , but… somehow, that blew a hole right through the image of the _Jetiise_ as an unstoppable force, something godlike.

“How old were you?” Jango asked.

“The first time, you mean?” Kenobi clarified, and Jango nodded. “I was twelve. Almost thirteen.” He gave Jango a lopsided smile, then. “I was actually being held in an off-shore mine as a slave when Galidraan happened.”

And Jango… he still wasn’t _over it_ , what the _Jetii_ had done to his people, not even _close_ , but he could now at least firmly say that Kenobi wasn’t to blame for it. He wasn’t part of it.

“What happened?” Jango asked, and Kenobi sighed.

“Ask me tonight,” he said. “We don’t have time for that right now. The next group will be here in a moment.”

Jango nodded slowly, and true to Kenobi’s prediction, the next two came down the stairs.

* * *

The next twelve hours passed quickly, going through the same routines over and over again. Kenobi and Jango put together a list of the most promising to work with the longest in the following days so that they could teach the others in turn, freeing up Kenobi and Jango for all of the other preparations they had to make. They would have to come back in the middle of the night, sneaking away from their quarters when they were least likely to be seen by their masters or guards.

As they left the cellar, Ma Jira pressed a fruit into Kenobi’s hand, refusing any payment for it, giving him that sweet, gap-toothed smile. Then, turning to Jango, she pressed one of the strange, bright red fruits into his hand as well. He nodded at her in thanks, and she patted his arm.

“There’s a storm coming,” Kenobi said suddenly. “We should hurry back. Thank you, Jira.”

Jango followed Kenobi back through Mos Espa to the ships, again following him onto the _Prudii_. Kenobi gestured for him to sit on a cushioned bench inset into the wall, pulling one of the cushions off and setting it on the floor, sitting cross-legged on top of it.

“This isn’t a pleasant story,” Kenobi warned him, and Jango raised an eyebrow. Any story about a _child_ being sold into slavery couldn’t be pleasant. Kenobi rolled his eyes. “That isn’t what I mean. I fear that telling you will not improve your view upon the Order much.”

Jango frowned at him. “They didn’t sell you--”

“No, they would never do such a thing,” Kenobi cut him off quickly. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how much you know about the Order, but there are many traditions and rules that we follow. One of these is the maximum age for an Initiate to be taken as a Padawan. If no Master chooses an Initiate before their thirteenth birthday, for humans, or species equivalent, then they are sent away from the Temple, either to one of the Jedi Service Corps or back to their families.”

Jango blinked at him. “That’s ridiculous. As much as I--” For the first time, he hesitated over the word _hate_ . “-- _disapprove_ of the Order taking children, it’s the only home you ever know. And then they take you just to send you away?”

Kenobi frowned. “Perhaps we should back up a bit. There are many parents who are _happy_ to give their children to the Order. People from planets like Alderaan and Chandrila, planets with a long and peaceful history with the Jedi. Many of them think it an honor for their children to go to the Order."

“But some don’t.”

“There are more than we like to draw attention to who are less than happy,” Kenobi murmured. He reached a hand up and ran it through his hair, mussing the auburn strands, making some stand up on end. “Sometimes, Force-sensitive children find themselves in… situations that the Order must _remove_ them from, without the explicit consent of the parents.”

... _oh_ . That was another point Jango had never had to consider. To any _Mando_ worth the title, children were _everything_ . It didn’t matter whether they were _different_ , they were _children_ . Although few Mandalorian _ade_ went to the Order, if they showed Force sensitivity, they… figured it out. They found teachers within their own community to show them how to control their powers, but they didn’t… treat them as _lesser_ for it.

“Some parents are overwhelmed by the powers their children display,” Kenobi continued quietly, staring at the floor. “And there are some entire cultures that believe Force-sensitivity is a curse.” He paused, taking another deep breath. “My mother tried to drown me in a river, when I began showing signs. There was a Jedi near, thankfully, and he felt it happen, through the Force. He saved me and brought me back to the Temple.” Kenobi paused a bit longer, then, his gaze far-away. “I was three. I still remember her. I feel… so terribly for her.” Jango frowned and blinked in confusion. “She didn’t _want_ to do it. But it was… kinder. Her tribe’s tradition was to burn the child alive. She stole me away from them and brought me into the main port city where she thought she wouldn’t be discovered--and she wasn’t, at least not by them. She didn’t _want_ to hurt me, but she didn’t think she had a choice.”

And that’s… one of the sadder things Jango has heard in his life. And kriffed up.

“We’ve gotten rather away from the point,” Kenobi sighed, raising his head, giving Jango a rather tight smile. “My apologies.” Jango waved a hand. “Anyhow. I was nearly thirteen, and several weeks before my birthday, I was sent to the AgriCorps. They sent me to Bandomeer. But there was a former Jedi there, Xanatos du Crion, who was essentially destroying the planet, stripping it for its resources…”

Jango listened attentively to the story, tuning out the wind and the sound of sand hitting the ship from the storm outside, and found himself disliking Jinn more and more throughout. He actually _growled_ when Kenobi described how he, as a _twelve-year-old child_ , had offered to blow himself up so that Jinn could go on to save others. Kenobi had paused, and then sighed and shook his head before continuing.

Though the story _seemed_ to have a happy ending, with Jinn finally claiming the kid as his apprentice, Jango wondered what the _kriff_ was wrong with the _Jetii_.

“How could they let a man like that be in charge of a child’s care?” Jango asked flatly when Kenobi had finished. The _Jetii_ sighed again--he seemed to be doing a lot of that.

“My Master feels things very deeply. He was… broken, by what had happened with Xanatos,” Kenobi explained. “He did heal, in time, and became a wonderful Master. He is very dear to me.”

Jango nodded slowly, and a brief silence fell, the storm having petered out. “I’ll take tonight’s training. Same time tomorrow?” Kenobi nodded, and Jango stood to leave, taking one last look at the _Jetii_. He was nothing like what Jango would have expected.

He found it hard to sleep that night, his thoughts circling back to Kamino and Operation Knightfall, and he was glad that he’d offered to get up in the middle of the night anyway, for their training. In the meantime, he knew he should sleep, and he would be tired tomorrow, but…

Jango wondered how many _Jetiise_ were like Kenobi. He wondered how many _good ones_ there were, and how many would die because of what he’d done.

It was a thought he'd once enjoyed, but now he only felt… cold.

* * *

They spent their days in the same pattern for the next week. They would go to Ma Jira’s and train slaves in the cellar, accepting their offerings of food and water now that they were trusted. In the evenings, Jango would follow Kenobi back to the _Prudii_ and ask whatever questions he’d thought of about the _Jetii_ that day, or they would discuss the development of the slaves’ skills, or their strategies. At night, they took turns slipping back to the cellar, meeting with Saiya and the other promising fighters for extra training sessions.

After a week, Kenobi looked far more cheerful that morning as he greeted Jango, stepping down the platform of his ship with a distinct _bounce_ in his step.

“Hondo commed this morning at a truly _uncivilized_ hour,” Kenobi explained, but he was grinning despite his words. “They overtook the Federation freighter and they’re bringing it here. Unfortunately, they had to destroy the fighters guarding the freighter, but there will be _plenty_ of munitions.”

“And the Federation won’t be sending anyone after it?” Jango asked doubtfully. Kenobi snorted.

“They can’t afford to,” he answered. “With the Senate investigation, the Federation was barred from producing or transporting any arms or munitions of any kind, including battledroids. An exception was made for fighters, of course, and other vehicles, given Corellia’s dependence on them for transportation of the fighter ships they build. But no, they cannot afford to make this a larger incident than it already is, lest they draw attention to the fact that they are acting in bad faith.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Good. That’s one hurdle down.”

“And it means we need to pick up the pace,” Kenobi said. “I’ll be disabling the chips today, starting with Saiya’s.”

Saiya, however, was far less sanguine about Kenobi’s plan than he was. “Why can’t you just remove it?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “If you even know where it is.”

“I’ll know where it is,” Kenobi assured her, “but we can’t risk removing it. They may notice that, if they have passive scanners installed as I suspect they might. But those only scan to see if the chip is still in _place_ , not to see if it is operational.”

Saiya frowned at him, still not convinced. “And how are you going to disable it?”

Kenobi grinned at her. “Magic.”

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Fine. Karkin’ crazy _bounty hunters_.”

“Thank you. Sit down, please, and extend both legs.” Saiya did as she was told, and Kenobi hovered a hand over one leg, running his hand over it slowly. Saiya and Jango both watched him as he moved to the other leg, repeating the gesture, and then exchanged _looks_ when he stopped at a particular spot high up on her right thigh. Jango shrugged.

“Yes, there it is,” Kenobi said. He gently pressed both hands to that one spot, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. A moment later, Saiya jumped.

“That felt… strange,” she said slowly, rubbing at her thigh. “What did you _do_?”

“I short-circuited the chip,” he answered. “If you try to _overload_ them, it activates the chip. This way is far safer. It’s completely fried, now, just a small piece of metal.” He did not mention the explosives attached to it; he didn’t need to.

“You’re sure?” Saiya asked, frowning at him, brow furrowed. Kenobi nodded. “But how did you _do that_?”

Kenobi hesitated for a moment before answering simply, “Through the Force, a great many things are possible.”

Saiya’s eyes went wide. “The Force? You’re a _Jedi_?” Kenobi nodded.

“But no one can know that,” he said quickly. “The Order cannot appear to be connected to what happens here. If our involvement is discovered, it will spoil a much larger plan, do you understand?” Saiya nodded, still gaping at him. He smiled gently at her and patted her arm. “Good. Now, we’ll just get the others done and get back to training.”

Jango wondered what, exactly, the Force made possible. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

* * *

Finally, Hondo returned, landing the Federation freighter farther out in the dunes to keep it hidden. He brought the first load of weapons on his own ship, setting it down beside theirs. As soon as the ramp lowered, Jango snorted at Hondo, leaning up against the metal wall of the ship, arms folded over his chest, his particularly smug-looking lizard-monkey on his shoulder cackling triumphantly.

“My friends! We had quite the success, as always,” Hondo told them. “Why don’t you come to see it all, eh?” Jango and Kenobi followed him up the ramp and into the cargo hold.

There were crates and racks of weapons _everywhere_ . Blasters, pistols, vibroblades, _bombs_ , EMPs--Jango _almost_ wished that the Senate could see this. There would be no doubt, then, about the Federation’s intentions. But it would serve a better purpose in their hands.

“This is only the first load?” Jango asked, trying not to think about whether any of these weapons had been meant to go to _Kyr’tsad_. Hondo nodded, beaming at him.

“Oh yes, yes, there are perhaps two more loads of this size left on the ship,” Hondo told them gleefully. “Plenty of weapons to make an army--if you have managed to make us soldiers, yes?”

“We’re getting there,” Kenobi said lightly. “They’ll be ready.”

Hondo nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “With the two of you preparing them, I have no doubts!”

“We’ll have to wait until nightfall to start distributing them,” Jango said.

“We’ll use the catacombs,” Kenobi agreed, nodding as he reached up to stroke his beard. “The original tunnels were carved out by greater krayts, and taken over by humans during the last several centuries. They’re known only to the Amavikka, now, and will be safe enough for this. They also run between Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. We can make the run overnight, using a hoversled…”

“Good, good!” Hondo agreed. “The plan is going perfectly. How long before we are ready?”

Jango and Kenobi exchanged a look, and Kenobi nodded. “Five days, I should think,” Kenobi declared, echoing what he and Jango had discussed about their progress. Hondo grinned.

“That is perfect, simply perfect! That will give us plenty of time for drinking before the fighting,” Hondo declared. Jango rolled his eyes. Kenobi simply smiled.

“Of course, Hondo,” he agreed, sounding amused. “But please be sure to stay hydrated, won’t you?”

Hondo clucked his tongue. “Always the mother tooka, Kenobi! Yes, yes, we will be fine. Now go, we should all sleep now if we will be up all night.”

Kenobi nodded in apparent agreement, but stopped dead outside the ship, tilting his head thoughtfully before nodding to himself. He waved a hand at Jango. “You go on. I want to check on something.”

Jango raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and continued walking toward _Slave I_.

He settled himself down in the cockpit, looking over the desolate dunes spreading out before him. Absently, he began disassembling one of his pistols to clean it--and then movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He looked up and saw Kenobi, back to him, heading out farther into the dunes. Jango frowned, and after a moment’s hesitation, he left the ship and called out to him. Kenobi stopped, turning around, and waited for him to catch up.

“What are you doing?” Jango asked flatly. Kenobi smiled at him.

“There’s a… friend of mine,” he said, gesturing out into the sea of sand, “out there. I’m just going to see her.”

“Why don’t you take a speeder?” Jango asked slowly.

“They tend to startle her,” Kenobi answered simply, shrugging. Jango frowned at him.

“Do you have coordinates?”

“Oh, no. But I can sense her clearly.”

Jango blinked at him and folded his arms over his chest. “You want to wander out into the desert just before the heat of the day on nothing more than some _Jetii_ hunch of yours?” Kenobi laughed and waved a hand.

“I know what I’m doing, though I thank you for your concern,” he said, tone warm. Jango shifted just the slightest bit, uncomfortable with the sentiment.

“You’re going to give yourself heat stroke.”

“I will _not_.”

“You aren’t even carrying any water,” Jango pointed out.

“There is scrag along the way, if I truly need it,” Kenobi argued, and Jango scowled at him.

“No,” he ground out. “And you don’t even have a _blaster_?”

“I have my ‘saber,” Kenobi said with another shrug. “I will be _fine_ , I assure you. I know my way around these deserts. Trust me.”

Jango hesitated, and then, before he had consciously decided to, he said, “I’m going with you.”

Kenobi blinked at him, and his expression was pure _grief_ for a brief moment before he smiled, changing so quickly Jango almost thought he’d imagined the grief. “Alright, I suppose. It’s just this way.” With that, he turned and began walking again.

Jango trudged through the sand right next to him, allowing Kenobi to lead them in a straight line through the desert. They didn’t speak as they went, walking in companionable silence. The sand and the heat seemed to stretch on and on, interrupted thus far only by a herd of bantha that Kenobi paused to smile at for some unfathomable reason, his eyes far-off again.

He’d known Kenobi was crazy--he’d known that since the moment the man approached him and asked if he wanted to help overthrow the Hutts and free the slaves--but not… quite like this.

Jango didn’t quite know how long they had walked over the endless dunes, out toward a canyon rising in the distance, when Kenobi finally stopped--it was easy to lose track of time in the endless desert--but the suns were both high in the sky, and the heat was sweltering. Jango was once again eternally grateful for the bodysuit’s cooling properties.

“Yes, here, I think,” Kenobi declared, and settled himself down atop the dune, folding his legs and closing his eyes. Jango remained standing, staring at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for her to come to me,” Kenobi answered. “Although I probably should call her, first.”

Jango clenched his jaw and threw up his hands in exasperation. “She doesn’t even know you’re coming?”

“She will,” Kenobi answered. He cracked one eye open to peer at Jango. “Sit down, please. We don’t want to spook her.”

Jango stubbornly remained standing for a long moment even as Kenobi closed his eyes again, breathing deeply and rhythmically. He wondered if this was more weird Force _osik_ before deciding that, kark it all, he’d come this far. Slowly, he sank down in the sand, leaving his feet out in front of him and resting his elbows on bent knees.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Kenobi opened his mouth and _shrieked_.

Thankfully, Jango’s _buy’ce_ automatically filtered the volume so that it wasn’t _deafening_ , but it was still jarring in the relative silence, and the instant Kenobi stopped, Jango demanded, “What was _that_?”

“A krayt dragon call.”

Jango blinked. “A _what_ \--” He sputtered, eyes narrowing beneath his bucket. “Who is this _friend_ , exactly?”

“Stay very still,” Kenobi warned him. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

True to his word, a moment later Jango saw a shadow pass over the suns, felt a gust of strong wind in the otherwise still air, sand kicked up all around them, and heard a low _rumble_ \--

And then a Krayt Dragon was standing in front of them, only a few scant meters away. The dragon was _huge_ , probably longer than eighty meters, Jango would guess--he felt the blood drain from his face as he realized this wasn’t just a krayt dragon, this was a _Greater Krayt Dragon_.

“ _This_ is your friend?” Jango hissed, and Kenobi nodded. Slowly, he rose to his knees, and then to his feet. The dragon huffed and blinked its large, yellow eyes, tilting its head slightly. Kenobi smiled and slowly walked toward her, lifting one hand.

The dragon remained still, and Kenobi came to a stop with his hand only a few centimeters away from her. Ever so slowly, the dragon pressed its head to Kenobi’s palm and closed its eyes. Kenobi chuckled and moved closer, slowly stroking the dragon’s snout. Jango blinked, and then blinked again.

He must be hallucinating. Maybe none of this even happened, and he was still on Kamino. Maybe he was just ill, and this was all a fever-dream. He certainly felt like he was burning up--maybe it wasn’t the twin suns.

“Her name is Nuhunarla,” Kenobi informed him. The name roughly meant _Laughter_ , and he grunted at the unassuming name for a karking _Krayt Dragon_. “Nuhunarla, this is Jango Fett.”

The dragon--Nuhunarla, apparently--huffed and slowly stuck its long neck out farther, toward Jango. He stayed perfectly still, frozen in place, as she approached. Her face was only centimeters from his, and Jango willed himself to grab his blaster, but he couldn’t _move_ , and--

Nuhunarla huffed again, seeming _amused_ by him, and then gently butted her nose against his chest plate before returning to coil slightly around Kenobi, who leaned comfortably up against her, stroking slowly over her hide.

“I’m glad to see you again, my friend,” he murmured to the dragon, who had closed its eyes. She let out a low, long rumble, and Kenobi chuckled. “Yes, I know. I look rather different now.”

“Are you-- _talking_ to it?” Jango asked dully. “You can understand what it’s saying?”

Kenobi blinked at him. “Yes, of course.”

Jango shook his head slowly. “Kriffing insane _di’kut_ ,” he muttered. “Karking _mad_ son of a--”

Kenobi only laughed. “Yes, I’ve been called that many times.” Nuhunarla snorted again in some sort of approximation of laughter, and then trilled long and low. Jango thought that perhaps the name was fitting after all. “Oh, don’t give me that, Nuhunarla. You’re just as bad as I am.” Nuhunarla growled and swished her tail, knocking Kenobi down where she coiled around him--Jango tensed until he realized that she was being _protective_ of the _Jetii_.

Kenobi had somehow _tamed_ a fucking _Greater Kryat Dragon_.

“We shouldn’t stay long, I’m afraid,” Kenobi sighed. Nuhunarla growled again. “I know, I know. I’ll come back to see you before I leave Tatooine, I promise. But we have much to attend to.” Nuhunarla trilled again. “Yes, we were the ones who brought machines of war to your home. I am sorry for that, but we do need them. We’re going to be freeing the Amavikka soon.”

Nuhunarla’s cry was a loud and long and high trill, almost _joyful_ , and Jango blinked again. Could his life get any fucking _stranger_?

* * *

Finally, the day came. Their key players--and many more besides, as many more as Kenobi felt he could trust to keep his identity as a _Jetii_ a secret--had their chips disabled, everyone was armed, and it was time to act.

Shmi surprised them by gathering with several of the others in Ma Jira’s cellar, a blaster in one hand, and a vibroblade in the other.

“I will fight,” she declared, lifting her chin. “If I do not make the climb to freedom myself, I am not truly free.”

Kenobi smiled at her, tinged with that _grief_ that Jango still did not understand the meaning behind, and nodded. “I understand.”

She paused. “What of the individual slave holders?” she asked quietly. “Like Watto?”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of the plan!” Hondo broke in, slinging an arm around Jango’s shoulders. He scowled beneath his _buy’ce_ and shrugged it off. Hondo huffed but righted himself easily. “All of the chips are connected to the Hutts’ control systems. Mos Espa is controlled by Gardulla’s stronghold, and Mos Eisley is controlled by Jabba’s. Even if privately owned, all slaves are registered with the Hutts, and their strongholds have the final control over the chips.”

“I see,” Shmi said, her shoulders slumping a little in relief. “So his detonator will not work.”

“No, it won’t,” Kenobi assured her. He glanced at the chrono on his commlink and nodded. “It’s almost time. Come on, then.” Kenobi faced Jango and spread his arms out in invitation.

Part of Jango had enjoyed this bit of the plan, the part that was still _furious_ at the _Jetii_ , the part that almost still hated them. But another part, the part of him that would never-- _could_ never--forget the story Kenobi had told him about a twelve-year-old boy, forced from his home, sold into slavery, and offering up his own life… he didn’t like it.

Forcing the anger to the fore, picturing white snow turned red with blood, Jango balled his gloved and armored hand into a fist and _slammed_ it into Kenobi’s cheek.

Kenobi took a step back, his hand coming up to his cheek to feel the swelling that was no doubt already beginning, and the bruise that would blossom in only minutes. Kenobi nodded.

“Quite efficient, thank you,” he said dryly. Jango huffed.

“What…?” Shmi was frowning, looking between the two of them, narrowing her eyes at Jango.

“He’s pretending to have captured me, to turn me in for the bounty,” Kenobi reminded her. “It wouldn’t be very convincing if I showed up without a scratch now, would it?”

“Oh,” Shmi sighed. “Well, I suppose not.” She gave him a small smile, and Kenobi patted her arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her before turning back to Jango. “Do you have Force-suppressing binders?”

Jango did. He had them on _Slave I_ , just in case, because even though he had been cleared of the crimes he was accused of on Galidraan, he _was_ still a dangerous bounty hunter, and a man who had, no matter his reasons, killed six _Jetiise_ with his bare hands. Who knew when he might need them?

“No,” he lied smoothly. “But they won’t know the difference unless they examine them closely. Which we will not give them the opportunity to do.”

Kenobi sighed, as if he realized that Jango was simply refusing on principle. He met Jango’s eyes dead on, somehow knowing exactly where his gaze was through the helmet--kriffing _Jetii_ and their Force powers. “I am trusting you with this.”

And then he held out his _Jetii’kad_. Slowly, Jango nodded and closed his hand over it. Kenobi let go somewhat reluctantly, nodding at him as Jango clipped it to his belt.

“Shmi, I would recommend joining Saiya’s group,” he said. “They’ll be part of the assault on Gardulla’s palace, and if you leave Gardulla’s territory before the chips are disabled…”

Shmi nodded grimly. “Yes. I know Saiya well.” After a moment’s hesitation, Shmi passed a hand over Obi-Wan’s brow. “Ar-Amu protect us all, and may Leia give us strength.”

Kenobi smiled at her, putting his fingers to his lips and then to his heart. Shmi nodded once, satisfied, and then turned to Jango. She stared at him for a long moment, and then she smiled, giving him a knowing sort of look that made him frown beneath his helmet.

“You are a good man, Jango Fett,” she declared. “I would like for us to meet again, so please do not get yourself killed.”

Jango barked a startled laugh and shrugged. “I haven’t so far.”

Shmi smiled at him and nodded before moving off into the crowd of other slaves to find Saiya. Kenobi looked to Jango and nodded. “Let’s go."

* * *

They took the tunnels to Mos Eisley in a speeder; at some points, the ancient underground burrow was barely wide enough for it, and it was slower going than it had been with the smaller sleds.

“What’s troubling you?” Kenobi asked suddenly, and Jango scowled. Yes, he decided, _Jetii_ actually _could_ sense what you were feeling, if not exactly what you were thinking.

“If _Jetii_ involvement in all of this is supposed to be a secret, how are you going to explain it when we take down Jabba?”

Kenobi shrugged. “Well, it’s hardly _my_ fault that I was captured by a bounty hunter to be turned over to a Hutt on _precisely_ the same day a slave uprising took place,” he said far too innocently. “Naturally, in all of the chaos, I _had_ to stop them from activating the detonators en masse. It is my duty as a Jedi to defend life, of course.” Kenobi paused, looking intently at him. “It protects your cover, too. This way, if you’d like, everyone but the Amavikka will believe that you truly did capture me. You can simply claim that you went against the Hutts once you realized that they were to be on the losing side.”

Jango hummed thoughtfully. It was a good enough plan. Simple, easy enough to see through, but it would only ever be _suspicion_ . No one would truly be able to _prove_ that Kenobi or Jango had helped the uprising beyond rumors. And it would be best for him not to be seen as involved. If the _Kaminiise were_ allied with the Sith, and the Sith were allied with the Federation, whoever it had been who had recruited Jango would not be pleased by him plotting behind their back to eliminate one of their allies.

But on the other hand… If he claimed credit here, it might help him to reclaim his title. If the others who might be willing to call themselves _Haat Mando’ade_ saw that he was fighting again, and for a _cause_ , a noble one… Perhaps he could rally them. Perhaps he could rebuild what he’d lost so long ago.

Perhaps that was why he took this ridiculous job, to become a man worthy of being the _Mand’alor_ again. Why else would he have agreed to such an insane plan, if not for the nobility of the cause?

“We’ll see,” Jango settled on saying, and Kenobi only shrugged easily.

“It makes little difference to me, so long as my involvement remains unofficial,” Kenobi answered. “If you like, we can change the script a bit, and say that Hondo captured me instead and you were never even here at all. But we can decide all of that later.”

Jango nodded and brought the speeder slowly up over the ramp that they’d dug into the sand, bringing them out atop the dunes. He peered up at the suns; it was about noon. They were right on time.

“Alright, Kenobi,” Jango said, “arms out.” Kenobi surprised him by turning around and holding his wrists still behind his back.

“It’s more believable this way,” he said, and Jango snorted. He was right, and so Jango clamped the cuffs around him.

“Ready?” Jango asked, and Kenobi turned back to give him a toothy grin, his eyes all wild fire despite the blue-green of them.

“ _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_ ,” he surprised Jango by saying. Jango barked a laugh and shook his head.

* * *

“ _Oh great and most mighty Jabba, the bounty hunter Jango Fett has delivered the despicable Jedi scum_ ,” the protocol droid at he Hutt’s side said cheerfully in Huttese. Jango tightened his grip around Kenobi’s upper arm, shoving him roughly forward, making him stumble a bit. Jango stopped just before the decorative grates in the floor, heeding Kenobi’s warning. He had no desire to meet a rancor--that would be a complication they didn’t have time for.

“ _This pleases me greatly!_ ” Jabba declared, laughing jauntily, his great, slimy belly heaving. Throughout the stone, dimly lit throne room, his court laughed, even the slaves he had attached to metal chains around him, although Jango could tell it was forced. Their eyes were too empty for true laughter, and his heart burned with his rage. “ _Majordomo, get the man his payment. Fett, get the scum on his knees, as is his proper place._ ”

The protocol droid began to translate, but Kenobi was already lowering himself down.

“ _Of course I speak Huttese, oh great one_ ,” Kenobi said carefully, his tone even and polite. “ _It is a truly wonderful and sophisticated language._ ” Jango struggled not to laugh at the glaringly obvious sarcasm. Jabba, however, didn’t seem to pick up on it.

The Hutt laughed again. “ _Oh, little Jedi. You think pretty words will stop me from taking you? They will not. It is not I who wants you. You will like them even less_.”

The Sith, Jango thought, and he ground his teeth.

“ _I would never seek to sway you, oh mighty Jabba. I know you are immune to the Jedi mind trick, and would never attempt it on you_ ,” Kenobi said, just as calm as ever. “ _But please, if you would allow me to know: who will you give me to?_ ”

“ _Are you worried for your fate, little one?_ ” Jabba said in a mockery of a soothing tone, and then he laughed again. “ _Good. You should be. He will give you a fate worse than death, which is what you deserve_.”

“ _It wouldn’t happen to be Darth Sidious...?_ ” Kenobi asked, and Jabba went perfectly still before laughing again.

“ _So you know him already! This is good. It means you know what will happen to you_ . _They say the Jedi feel no fear. But you should, little Jedi. You should_.”

Three beeps sounded in Jango’s ear, the signal that the operation in Mos Espa was starting. He squeezed Kenobi’s arm in silent warning, and the man bowed his head, acknowledging Jango. Jabba mistook this for fear, and threw his head back in laughter.

In an instant, Jango felt the weight of the _Jetii’kad_ suddenly leave his hip, and he stepped back as the blue blade sprang forth. Kenobi held it upside down, tapping it against the shackles; under the intense heat, even so momentary, they instantly broke apart, leaving his hands free.

Jango turned and jumped into a roll, diving behind one of the offering tables covered in the tributes brought to Jabba. Above him, a few stray blaster bolts peppered the table, breaking expensive ornaments, sending shards of clay and metal down on Jango, bouncing harmlessly off of his _beskar’gam_ . He drew both his blaster and his pistol and began to pick off Jabba’s guards as they fired on Kenobi, trying to make it look as convincing as possible that he was trying to shoot at the _Jetii_ instead. He caught one guard in the knee, sending him down, and another in the neck, _just_ where his armor didn’t cover. A third and fourth fell in quick succession as Jango caught them with neat shots between their shoulderblades.

He took a moment to press the comm button for his helmet, and he connected instantly with the others.

“ **\--Saiya’s group is heading for the control room now. Shmi and the others are pressing in from the outside.** ”

“ **Good. Comm when the chips are deactivated and the shields are down. We will come to blow things up, yes? Haha, such fun!** ” Jango snorted at Hondo’s obvious enthusiasm, keeping an eye on the _Jetii_ as he continued picking off the guards in the confusion.

“ **Everything is going to plan in Jabba’s throne room** ,” Jango told them.

“ **Ah, excellent, my friend! My crew is ready to provide air support and the fighters are in position as soon as you give the word**.”

Kenobi fought… Kenobi fought with all of the aggression of fire and all the grace of water. He moved so quickly Jango could barely follow his movements, his _Jetii’kad_ a blur, an impenetrable wall of blue. He deflected their own blaster bolts back at them with astounding precision, catching the Majordomo in the throat, dropping him instantly, and several of the guards between the eyes. It was brutal, deadly, terrifying, and Jango had never seen anything quite like it. Kenobi looked like he was born to fight, like he was made to wield a _Jetii’kad_.

It was nothing like Galidraan, praise the _ka’ra_ . There was no _pity_ rolling off Kenobi in waves as it had those _Jetii_. Kenobi fought with passion, and determination. Like a force of nature.

Jango realized he’d been woolgathering when a trembling young Twi’lek woman threw herself down next to him, still wearing the chains around her neck and wrists, scantily clad, and Jango quickly pinned his gaze to her face.

“Jira sent word,” the girl called over the blaster shots, the hum of the saber, the roar of confused and pained cries echoing throughout the chamber. “I’m to show you to the controls while the Jedi keeps them busy.”

Jango nodded; this, too, had been part of the plan. He supposed it made the most sense; if there _were_ any survivors, they would all claim that they saw Jango defend himself and then disappear as soon as he could, slipping away from the fighting when the risk outweighed the potential profit. Perfect for his reputation, even if the implication of _cowardice_ rankled.

“Go,” Jango barked, and she nodded. The Twi’lek took a deep breath and darted out of cover, toward one of the archways off to the side. Jango followed, walking backwards and giving them cover fire while they ducked into the hallway. Standing just inside it, Jango looked over at Kenobi just as he performed an impressive _flip_ over one of the guards, and then the guard toppled to the floor, his head separating from his body and rolling away. Jango chuckled.

As if sensing Jango’s gaze--he probably did, kriffing _Jetii_ \--Kenobi looked up and met his gaze for a brief instant before turning his attention back to the battle, bringing his _Jetii’kad_ down in a swirling arc to remove the hands of one of the guards, going through his armor plating like it was nothing more than plastoid, and then swung up high to cleave head from the body of the still-standing guard beside the first one. He seemed to have a thing for beheadings.

“ **We’re heading for the control panel** ,” Jango said into their private channel. “ **ETA is five minutes, based on the plan**.”

Kenobi did not respond other than to nod slightly, not even looking back at Jango. It was enough, and Jango knew that he’d heard it through the small earpiece--reception only--that he wore. They couldn’t risk a larger piece of equipment, not for their opening ruse to have worked as well as it did, though Jango would have preferred they keep in constant communication.

Jango turned on his heel and quickly followed the Twi’lek through the halls. It wasn’t hard to remain mostly unnoticed--there were people running every which way, most of them trying to get away from the violence, although a few ran towards the fighting. Those that looked like guards, Jango shot. Kenobi didn’t need more trouble than he would already be dealing with.

“It’s just inside that door,” the Twi’lek said, pointing to a large wooden door in one of the deeper parts of the stronghold. They were far from the entrances, Jango knew. “I can’t go with you. If I go through that door, my chip will…”

Jango nodded in understanding. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly assess the girl--and she was _young_ . Young enough that Jango was sure he didn’t want to know exactly _how_ young. Her skin looked like it should be a vibrant green, but had gone dusky with the lack of care; she was desperately thin; given her bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks, Jango began to think that her trembling was less from fear and more from spice use.

“You’ve done enough,” he told her, keeping his voice low and gentle. “Get to safety.” She nodded eagerly and gave him a small, tremulous smile before scampering off.

Jango threw open the door, firing as soon as he saw movement in the room, dropping the two guards stationed in the hall. Another came from a door just inside the hallway, and Jango brought his elbow up to catch the man in the face, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling back. He finished the guard off with a shot to the head. Peering into the room the man had just come from, Jango quickly determined that it didn’t hold the control panels he was looking for. He continued down the hall, though he met no more resistance.

It felt… strange. It felt like a trap.

Blessedly, it wasn’t. Jango reached the end of the hall, stepping over the two guards’ bodies, and peered down at the control panels. Groaning, he activated his comm.

“ **We have a problem. The only control panels here are for the security systems. There are no detonator controls here.** ”

“ **Oh, no. That is terrible news,** **_terrible_ ** **.** ” Hondo sighed as he responded. “ **Where is the detonator control, do you know?** ”

“ **Probably with Jabba, knowing his paranoia. I’ll bring down the security and circle back to the throne room.** ”

Jango quickly killed the rayshields that protected Jabba’s palace from an airstrike. Their team had few qualms about blasting the surface levels--anything truly valuable was kept in the vaults deep underground, and they had warned all of the innocents--all of the _slaves_ \--to either get to the lower levels or get far away from the palace.

But if Jabba had the detonator, what would stop him from using it as soon as he realized that this wasn’t just Kenobi trying to fight his way out?

Cursing under his breath, Jango jogged back to the throne room, skidding to a halt just inside the hallway, looking into the open space.

Kenobi was on one knee, in the center of the grate that led to the sarlaac pit, breathing heavily. He still had his _Jetii’kad_ lit in one hand, but it was pointed away from him and down towards the ground. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast. Bodies littered the floor, and Jango grimaced as he picked up the familiar, horrible scent of charred flesh that a _Jetii’kad_ left behind and even his _buy’ce_ couldn’t quite filter. Jabba was still on his podium, but he was holding something--Jango had no doubt that it was the detonator control.

He took a deep breath and started lining up his shot--if he could hit Jabba’s hand, make him drop it…

“ _Did you think that I would not hear about my cousin Gardulla’s misfortune? Did you think that I would not realize your plans, little Jedi? You let yourself be captured, thinking you could defeat me, mighty Jabba, alone! It was a foolish mistake, one thousands will now die for_.”

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Slow, calm, and steady. Jango put the barest amount of force on the trigger. Inhale, ex--

Kenobi tilted his head back and _shrieked_ , the same sound he’d made in the desert, startling Jango. He let go of the trigger quickly, jumping back. He winced--even with the volume control on his _buy’ce_ , the stone walls made the cry _echo_ so loudly--

“ **What was that?** ” someone asked, having heard it over the open comm.

“ **Ben** ,” Jango answered tersely after making sure his external comm was muted. He retook his position, aiming again at the Hutt’s hand.

Jabba began to laugh, his jowls shaking, spit flying, his tail swishing back and forth.

“ _You think that will frighten me? I am not afraid of--_ ”

The ground began to shake, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“ _You should be afraid_.”

“ _I am not afraid of you!_ ” Jabba spat. “ _Stop this attack now, or I will kill them all!_ ”

“ _It is not me doing this,_ ” Kenobi returned evenly, “ _and it is not_ **_me_ ** _you should fear, oh mighty Jabba_.”

Kenobi leapt back just as the gate burst open, performing a backflip of truly impressive and unnecessary height and landing softly on both feet a safe distance away.

And then Nuhunarla came bursting forth from the pit, roaring far louder than Kenobi had, and Jabba dropped the detonator in his shock.

Inhale, exhale. On the exhale, Jango took his shot, hitting the detonator control straight on. Pieces went flying, and a warm flutter of _satisfaction_ went through him.

“ **The detonator control is destroyed. Sector two is clear.** ”

“ **Um, was that other** **_sound_ ** **Ben too?** ” Jango thought that was Saiya, and he chuckled darkly.

“ **No, that was Nuhunarla. A… friend of his. We’re all clear here, I think. Other than Jabba’s forces in the city itself, we’re good to go. Hondo’s men: stand down. No need for air support.** ”

“ **We could use a few more here in Mos Espa** ,” Saiya said, sounding winded. “ **There’s a guard barracks that would make a great target.** ”

“ **What a wonderful idea! The rest of my men and I over Mos Espa are sadly occupied with Gardulla’s pilots** ,” Hondo agreed.

Jango tuned them out, watching as Nuhunarla circled the throne room, pausing to press her nose into Kenobi’s chest as she had done to Jango before.

And then she turned on Jabba. Slowly, she stalked forward, her massive tail flicking back and forth in agitation.

“ _Stop, beast! I am Jabba, the mighty and great! A simple_ **_animal_ ** _will not be the end of me._ ”

Jango snorted, and Kenobi threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, that was a mistake,” he said, and Nuhunarla growled low, the rumbling shaking the walls and kicking up the ever-present Tatooine dust, and she _pounced_.

Jango heard Jabba’s deep, strangled scream as she caught him in her massive teeth, shaking her head rapidly back and forth, his body a grotesque ragdoll, tail flopping out of her mouth in a way that would have been funny had it not been so brutal. Nuhunarla threw her head back, throwing him up into the air. She opened her jaws, and then held her mouth open. Jabba fell in, and her jaws snapped shut around him.

Slowly, Jango emerged from his cover as Nuhunarla calmed, coiling around herself and practically _purring_ with satisfaction. There was blood around her mouth. Jango shivered.

Kenobi looked… relatively fine. The tunics he’d put on for this charade were singed in places, and Jango would have to make sure he was seen to by a medic, but he was standing on his own two feet. Sweating and breathing hard, still, but alright.

“That was surprisingly uneventful,” Jango said, deadpan. Nuhunarla huffed at him, and Jango snorted. “Alright, aside from you.” Nuhunarla seemed to forgive him and gently swatted him with her tail before using it to stroke down his back.

“Do they need our help in Mos Espa? Or in the city?” Kenobi asked once he’d regained control over his breathing.

Jango nodded slowly. “They could probably use our help back in Mos Eisley, rounding up the guards.”

Kenobi nodded and turned back to Nuhunarla, gently leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. The dragon’s eyes slid shut and she snuffled gently. Kenobi smiled and reached up to pat the side of her face.

“Thank you, my friend,” he whispered. Kenobi stepped back, turning to Jango with a smile. “Ready?”

* * *

By the time the two suns began to rise the following morning, Tatooine was _free_.

Jabba’s palace was filled by now- _former_ slaves, going inside willingly for the first time as they began sorting through the vaults to decide what to reclaim for their people as artefacts, what to sell, and what to make use of. Everything but the deep vaults in Gardulla’s stronghold had been reduced to smoldering rubble, and the same process was being repeated, the Amavikka sorting through the spoils.

At Kenobi’s insistence, anyone who wished to surrender had been allowed, and there were several dozen after word got around that Kenobi had a Greater Krayt at his beck and call. They were rounded up, bound and gagged, and put into the cargo hold of Hondo’s ship. He wouldn’t risk taking them back to Nal Hutta, not wanting to go near the planet, but he promised to drop them all off on Socorro. People like them would easily find work, and had few scruples about who they worked _for_ . Kenobi had, at least, left them with one sharp warning: he didn’t care much about the spice, he understood that illegal drug trades were roughly twelve percent of the galactic economy (and he had thrown that statistic out so flatly that Jango had snorted in amusement), but if they _ever_ found themselves in the employ of another slaver, he would not show them the same mercy twice.

It had been an effective threat. Jango had chuckled under his _buy’ce_ as several of the hired hands pissed themselves. He didn’t envy whichever of Hondo’s men would be forced to clean that up.

Throughout the city streets, people were revelling. Even those who had not been slaves had suffered under the rule of the Hutts, and were glad to accept their new freedom with open arms. Hondo and his crew were having a wonderful time, drinking and singing in the streets, or under cloth sunshades during the heat of the day. It would be several days before they received their pay, and the pirates were certainly making the most of it.

Saiya had, thankfully, survived the assault on Gardulla’s palace, although she took a nasty blaster shot to her thigh that grazed her femur, but luckily had missed any major arteries, and would leave her bedridden for months. Shmi had also survived, escaping the fighting with only a cut on her cheek that would be deep enough to scar and mottled purple bruising to her side, speaking of a few cracked ribs, but nothing broken.

“We cannot begin to thank you enough,” Ma Jira said. She had been chosen as the defacto leader of the Amavikka, and the rest of the population of Tatooine seemed content to accept her in place of the Hutts. Naturally, Jango thought, since most of the slavers were dead, and the private slave owners were doing all that they could to suck up to the Amavikka now that they had weapons and the ability to fight without fear of being blown up from the inside--though many former slave owners were already making preparations to leave Tatooine altogether.

“Thank Ar-Amu, and the Force, for they were with us,” Kenobi said, smiling gently at the elder. “And while I require no thanks, I did promise the rest of our friends some compensation.”

“Of course,” Ma Jira said, nodding.

Jango hesitated for only a moment before he cleared his throat. “One million Cho-Mar.”

Kenobi looked at him, startled. That didn’t even come to a million Republic credits, let alone the three million he could have gotten for turning Kenobi in for real, nor was even remotely close to the five percent he had initially agreed to.

Ma Jira smiled gently, knowingly. Jango wondered if Kenobi had already discussed his payment with her. “We will see that you get it as soon as possible. You will have your payment, and our everlasting thanks.”

Jango shook his head. “Please keep the thanks.” He grimaced. “I don’t mean to be rude. But no one can know that either of us got involved in this. No one but the Amavikka.”

Ma Jira narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded slowly. “As you wish.” She reached out and patted his arm, smiling again. “Still, you will always be welcome here. We may be the only ones to remember, but we have long memories.”

As she walked away, Jango glanced at Kenobi, who was still staring at him, a smile forming on his face.

“That was a steep discount.”

Jango shrugged. “I might have killed Jabba for free, given the right circumstances. He was a _hu’tuunla mir’sheb_.”

Kenobi laughed brightly and shook his head, still beaming at Jango. “ _Vor entye_.” Jango shrugged, and Kenobi tilted his head to the side. Jango had learned not to like it when he did that. It meant he had an idea, or a dangerous thought. “You have specific reasons for wanting to stay out of this, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Reasons you can’t tell me.”

“ _Nayc_. I can’t.”

“I understand,” Kenobi murmured. He gave Jango a lopsided smile. “Where will you go, after this? Back out into the galaxy? More bounties?”

Jango thought of Kamino. He would honestly rather not set foot there again, not until he had the lay of the land. Now that his eyes had been opened to the connections between them all, Jango did not know who to _trust_ , and there were eyes and ears everywhere on Kamino. The _Kaminiise_ were observant.

And then he thought of the son he’d been promised. He was due to come out of the tank in two months, and Jango would be damned if he would leave him there. He was _Mando’ade_ . _Ade_ were the most important thing.

 _Technically_ , all of the clones could be seen to be his children. He knew what their end was meant to be--they would be turned into little more than droids made flesh.

They were his _ade_ , too. He would not turn his back on them. For their sake, he would do what he could for them.

“Oh, I might lay low for a while,” Jango said noncommittally. “I’ll have no need to work for a bit, after all. One million Cho-Mar is still a pretty penny.”

Kenobi smiled, but his eyes were that stormy grey again. He nodded slowly. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

It was an innocuous enough statement, but Jango felt a chill run down his spine. The _way_ Kenobi said it had been… resigned. What did he _know_? Had Jango let something slip? Had he--

He took a breath, mindful of the fact that the _Jetii_ was able to sense his emotions. Instead, Jango shrugged.

“It’s a small galaxy, when it comes down to it,” he said. After a momentary pause, he added, “I’d prefer to be on the same side, when we do.”

Kenobi blinked at him in surprise, and then his smile widened, the ice receding to reveal the swirling blue-green again. “I’d like that too. _K’oyacyi_ , Jango.”

“ _K’oyacyi_ . _Ret'urcye mhi._ ”

* * *

Kenobi left before Jango, but Jango was paid before Hondo and his crew, his sum smaller and more quickly pulled together. Ma Jira had pressed the credit chip into his hand with a small white flower, and Jango had decided not to think about what it said about him that he went back into _Slave I_ to find two pieces of flimsi and a heavy weight he could use to press it.

He was readying his ship for his final departure when he sensed someone just outside. Keeping his right hand over his pistol, Jango opened the door and peered down the ramp. He frowned. “Shmi?”

“Sir Fett,” she said, smiling at him. “I know you have already done much for us, but I have one last request, if you would hear it.”

Jango nodded slowly, gesturing for her to come up the ramp. He waited until she was inside to shut the doors against the oppressive heat, and then he waved a hand at one of the chairs, but Shmi did not sit, merely lifting her chin slightly.

He thought he knew that look, and he didn’t much care for it. Jango ticked an eyebrow up at her, waiting for her request.

“I have never fought before, not like that,” she said. “And I have never felt more… like myself than I did that day. Ekkreth’s fire has always burned in me, Leia has always given me strength, but the uprising awakened more fire in me in than I ever knew was there.” Shmi paused, frowning, as though searching for the right words. “My people are free, on this world. But there are many other worlds where the Amavikka still wear Depur’s chains. I would not have it so.

“I cannot do what you do, but I think that I could learn. And I would like to, if you would teach me.”

Jango blinked at her, frowning slightly. “So you want me to come back and teach you how to fight?”

Shmi smiled. “No, Sir Fett. My people are called Skywalker for a reason. We were traders, with a fleet of many ships. I have always known that my place was out among the stars, though I had nothing but a dream of ever reaching them.” She shook her head. “There are many of us who wish to leave this place, to leave our pasts behind now that we have the _freedom_ to do it. And I would follow you, if you would allow me to.”

Jango opened his mouth to respond, but Shmi gently put a hand on his armored forearm, silencing him. She looked at him with such _knowing_ eyes, with such compassion, that Jango felt a lump form in his throat before he even knew what she would say.

“I have heard your story,” she said softly. “You are a king, lost and exiled from his kingdom. But you once ruled over many, and all of them _chose_ to follow you. If you would allow me, I would follow you.”

And Jango’s mind sputtered to a halt for a moment. She couldn’t mean…

“You wish to follow the Way?” Jango asked. “To follow the _Resol’nare_?"

“I believe I do,” Shmi said. “It feels… right. It feels like the person I am discovering myself to be.”

Jango studied her for a long moment. On the surface, Shmi looked impassive, quietly waiting for his answer. But below that, Jango saw a fire in her. The same fire he’d seen when he’d first met her, the spark that kept her unbowing despite her long years as a slave, had burst into a bonfire. Yes, she was right, Jango decided. She had a warrior’s spirit, and the heart for it, if her strength to give up her child for the promise of a better life and her willingness to fight for her own freedom were any indications.

Slowly, Jango nodded. “I will teach you. We will see, in time, if you will truly wish to swear to the _Resol’nare_. But for now, I will take you with me. How long do you need before we leave?”

Shmi smiled at him, wider than he’d seen from her before, and toothier. The expression knocked years off of Jango’s estimate of her age, and he wondered idly how old she truly was.

“Give me perhaps half an hour to say my goodbyes,” she said. “There is nothing left here for me but the people I must leave behind.”

Jango nodded and moved to the cockpit, sinking down into the pilot’s chair with a huff. What the _kriff_ had he gotten himself into now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for anyone who has read Stone in a Dam or Pebble in a River, the scene with the krayt dragon is the one I'm talking about. When I read kj_feybarn's works, I went "aw crap," but this was too important to the plot to change, so I left it and decided to credit. The idea of Obi-Wan taming a krayt dragon during his years on Tatooine is one that I borrowed from the wider fanon, but I love kj_feybarn's interpretation in particular, so you should definitely check it out if you haven't already!


	4. Ky & Asajj

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, left kudos, subscribed, and bookmarked! This is a story I wrote for myself, originally, and there was just too much of it not to post.
> 
> ...and my rough draft just hit over 110k words! Incredibly excessive for a story just for myself, and all of your responses have made me so glad I posted this. <3
> 
> Special shout out to Silmanumenel for helping point out my grammar goofs! :D

It was not that Ky Narec had _given up_ on the Order coming for him--he still took the time to record mission log updates weekly, after all. It was his duty to do so, of course, hoping that one day, even if _he_ was not found, his records could be. Though he was separated from the Order, he was still a Jedi, a Watchman.

But he was realistic. It had been over a decade since he had last had contact with the Council, and since he had not had Rattatak programmed into his charts when he’d been shot down and crash landed on the planet, it was easy enough to realize that the Order most likely did not even _know_ of the planet. It was known in smuggler's and slaver’s circles, of course, but not to the Republic, and it had no habitable neighbors close by.

And after a decade, Ky was certain they would have stopped searching for him.

Ky still had hope, of course--he dreamed of seeing the Temple again, of feeling the warmth of thousands upon thousands of his brothers and sisters in the Force around him, of getting to see his Padawan training in the salles with others her age instead of learning on the field of battle. He hoped that the Force would bring one of his fellows to them, and bring them home. But he also trusted the Force, and had learned from hard experience how to limit his expectations and live in the moment, and in this moment, he was on Rattatak, in the small ramshackle hut he shared with Asajj Ventress, his Padawan Learner, and she was just outside the door, attempting to meditate in the open air.

And it was on days like this that his _realism_ caught up with him. He had yet to rise from bed, the persistent burning ache in his lower spine and right hip reminding Ky that he was getting _old_. It had been a decade already, and there was likely no one looking for them, and… the chance that he would ever get to see the Temple again was growing slim.

“Master?”

Ky opened his eyes at Asajj’s soft call, smiling up at the girl. She was growing so quickly, now--Ky thought she might even be taller than he was, when she was finished. At fourteen, she towered over most others her age. She smiled back, her dark lips parting as she grinned at him.

“Yes, little one?” Not so little, not anymore, but he was loathe to give up the endearment. Asajj scowled, but he could feel her spike of pleasure through their bond at the nickname.

“Are you alright?” she asked. He sighed and nodded.

“It’s only my back again,” he told her, and her scowl deepened. He’d been struck by a blaster bolt in one of their mad dashes away from the warlords, and while he’d healed, some days it gave him more trouble than others. Days like today.

“Can I help?” she asked hopefully, and Ky nodded slowly.

“Perhaps you’d like to meditate together?” he suggested, and she nodded eagerly. Ky smiled; Asajj loved _everything_ about her training. She loved meditation in general, feeling the Force around her and within her, and meditating with Ky in particular, strengthening their training bond, she loved hearing his stories about the Temple and his own time as a Padawan, but most of all, Asajj loved ‘saber practice.

Asajj settled herself carefully on the other end of his bed, little more than a mattress of soft leaves and woven reeds, folding her long legs beneath her and laying one hand on his right leg, closing her eyes.

Ky allowed his own eyes to slip shut again, sighing and reaching for their bond first. Asajj was so _bright_ , a swirling, warm wind, and she gleefully reached back, brushing against him. Ky smiled, and tugged a bit, guiding her deeper into the Force with him. He could feel the mountains stretching around them, the plants that clung stubbornly to life in the arid climate--gnarled, wind-swept trees, growing sideways and up out of the sides of the mountains, the spiky grass that dotted the land, the stones so large and immovable that they had had time to become steeped presences in the Force despite the lack of life. Asajj’s presence seemed to sigh in satisfaction; she loved this view of Rattatak. It made the planet seem… Lighter than the realities they dealt with each day.

Ky eased them even deeper, going slowly so as not to overwhelm his Padawan. He allowed himself to drift on the currents of the Force that surrounded and bound everything and everyone on the planet. Distantly, he could feel all of the warm little flickers of life in the city they weren’t far from; he could feel the animals in the canyon just over the mountain from their little hut; and he could feel--

The Master frowned, reaching out to the presence he spotted. It wasn’t far off from them, and it was so bright, and so warm.

The presence brushed back against him, the equivalent of an outstretched hand, and Ky felt something like _hope_ beginning to bubble in his chest. Cautiously, ever so gently, he brushed back.

 _Hello there_ , he heard a whisper.

 _Is that another Jedi, Master?_ Asajj asked. Ky did not answer; he didn’t know, yet. But oh, he _hoped_.

 _Yes, Padawan,_ the whisper came again. _I’m not far. Can you tell me where you are?_

Even as Ky wanted to project the image of their little hut, and the path over the mountainside to it, every instinct he had honed over the last decade warned him not to. Instead, he sent an image of a plateau not far from them. If this stranger _wasn’t_ a Jedi, merely a rogue Force-user--which was not unheard of, not out here so far from the Republic--then he couldn’t risk their home being compromised.

_I will meet you there. It’s time to come home._

Ky’s eyes snapped open, and he found Asajj staring at him, wide-eyed.

“We’re going to the Temple?” she whispered, and Ky smiled at her.

“I hope so,” he said. Slowly, he pushed himself up; the burning, gnawing _pain_ in his back persisted, but he had reason enough to push through it, now. “Come, little one. Let’s go greet our guest, and determine if they are who we think they may be.”

* * *

It was slow going, climbing the steep path to the plateau. Ky knew that Asajj could have been there in a fraction of the time, had she run ahead; but Asajj merely walked beside him, not voicing so much as a single complaint at his slow, plodding pace. They did not speak as they walked, both too preoccupied with other thoughts. From Asajj, he could clearly feel her excitement, but also her suspicion and fear; he wanted to soothe her, to say something to dispel that fear, but…

Ky himself was afraid.

Possibilities ran through his mind, and he found quickly that he had no contingencies for them. If the warlords had found and hired a Force-sensitive assassin, if one had found them of their own accord, then… If this _was_ a trap, Ky knew that he was in no shape to fight. He glanced to his Padawan; Asajj was still quite young, but she was also very capable. If something happened to him, she would be alright.

But the fact remained that Ky knew he had little time left. Whether it was the over-taxation of his body by age and sickness that felled him, or battle, he knew that he would not last long out here without aid. If there was even a _chance_ that a Jedi had found them, he had to take it. He owed it to Asajj to try.

Finally, they crested the last bit of the steep path that led to the plateau, and climbed up onto the edge. Ky stopped, eyeing the man he saw sitting cross-legged in the center, only a few meters away. He looked young, with short auburn hair that fell down into his eyes, a beard, and clothes that looked nothing like the Jedi tunics: tight pants, a dark shirt, and a synthleather jacket. Ky frowned. The stranger opened his eyes slowly, peering up at them as a small smile blossomed on his face.

“Hello there,” he greeted them, the same salutation he’d given through the Force. Slowly, the man rose to his feet and bowed. “Master Narec and Padawan Ventress, I presume?”

“Yes,” Ky confirmed slowly, still frowning, still with his hands hovering at his hips, just over his ‘sabers. Asajj stood with her feet apart for balance, knees bent slightly, her hand already clasped around the ‘saber at her hip, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight,” the man introduced himself. “I’m here to bring you both back to Coruscant.”

 _Is there some way to know he’s telling the truth?_ Asajj asked over their bond, her lips thinning out in a firm line as she surveyed the stranger. Ky asked himself the same question, but could not settle on a suitable test.

“How do we know you are who you claim to be?” Ky asked slowly, and the stranger’s smile grew gentler.

“You know Master Windu, I’m sure?” he asked, and Ky nodded slowly. Of course, when he’d last had contact with the Temple, Mace Windu had been _Knight_ Windu. Although he had had a Padawan, then, a Chalactan girl; he supposed that would have been enough time for her to have been Knighted, earning him the rank of Master.

“He is the Master of the Order, now,” Kenobi explained. “Let me comm him; he will be glad to hear that you’ve been found, and it will allow you to verify my identity.”

Asajj snorted. “Good luck getting that to work here.”

Kenobi merely smiled wanly at them. “It will. I’ve modified it extensively; the connection is routed through my ship.”

Slowly, Ky nodded, and Kenobi pulled his left sleeve up to reveal a wrist-link, entering the code quickly. The three of them stood in tense silence--well, Ky and Asajj were tense, though Kenobi seemed completely at ease--as they waited for the call to be answered.

“Windu,” the man’s voice finally came, and Ky _remembered it_. That was him, it was truly him.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi greeted him, “I’ve found our wayward Master, and his Padawan, Asajj Ventress.”

“Thank the Force for that,” Windu sighed, and it warmed something in Ky to hear the genuine _relief_ in his voice. “Is he there with you?”

“Yes, _Master_ Windu,” Ky called out, emphasizing the title. “And my congratulations on your Padawan’s promotion, however overdue they may turn out to be.”

Windu chuckled. “Thank you, Master Narec. I’m glad Knight Kenobi was able to find you. And your Padawan, I hear?”

Ky looked to Asajj, giving her an encouraging smile. The girl blinked, scowling as she often did when she was nervous and trying to hide it. “Asajj Ventress,” she said, tacking on after a moment, “Master.”

“Well met,” Windu said gently. “Though I hope we’ll be able to meet in person, soon. Knight Kenobi, will you be able to leave the planet shortly?”

“Not today, but perhaps tomorrow,” Kenobi answered easily. “Chatter says there’s going to be a raid tonight, and with that many ships in the air, it isn’t worth the risk, even with the cloak.”

Ah, that explained how he had gotten down to the surface without alerting the warlords or the freedom fighters. Ky knew he would have heard about it before the strange greeting through the Force, if they had known a ship had landed.

“I sense we will need you here in the Temple,” Windu answered. “Master Narec has been away for too long, and Padawan Ventress needs an introduction. As soon as possible, if you would.”

“Of course, Master,” Kenobi answered. He looked to Ky, who smiled at him, the hope beginning to turn into _relief_.

“We’ll be ready to leave by tomorrow,” Ky assured them.

“Good,” Windu said. “We’ll be glad to have you back, Master Narec.”

* * *

Asajj understood why Master Narec was so happy--truly, she _did_ . The Temple was his home, and after so long, she had gotten a bit… cynical, beginning to wonder if anyone was even _looking_ for him, thinking that maybe they had just abandoned her Master. But they had _finally_ come, ready to take Master Ky _home_ , and Asajj…

She’d always _loved_ hearing his stories about the Temple, about the Order. She’d felt his lingering emotional memories whenever he’d talked about the Temple-- _safety_ , _warmth_ , and _Light_ . Asajj had nothing to compare it to, not really. Of course she felt safe with Master Ky, but never entirely. She knew that he was protecting her, but given the life she’d lived, how her first master (but a very different kind of _master_ ) had died right before her eyes, she’d always _known_ , even when she was young, that Master Ky was only mortal. As amazing as he was, as well as he could fight, she knew that he was vulnerable, and so she’d always been on alert, even when alone with him. Not _because_ of him, but to… protect him. To watch his back in return.

They were a _team_ , and even though Asajj desperately wanted to be just as happy as he was about going to the Temple, she was… scared. And she felt _guilty_.

Rattatak was the only home she’d ever really known. She’d always known she hadn’t been born there, just another slave imported from some other world, but Rattak was all she’d ever _known_. It was the only home she’d ever had, even such as it was.

And she had made a _promise_ . Asajj had promised the people of Rattatak that they would be _free_ , that they would one day no longer have to live jumping at shadows, in constant fear, at the “mercy,” if it could be called that, of the warlords who ruled over the lands and the skies.

It didn’t feel right to leave when Rattatak was not free, when Asajj’s promise hadn’t yet been fulfilled.

Master Ky was listening attentively to Knight Kenobi as he worked through their meager belongings; spare parts and their few appliances were sorted through to determine what should be scrapped and what should be given to their friends in the city, the logs he had obsessively kept--at first on datapads, and then hand-written on flimsi when he had run out of space on the ‘pads and found it too expensive to procure any new ones, especially since they would not even have ‘Net access, as that was restricted by the warlords as well--gathered and stacked neatly. Knight Kenobi was sitting on Master Ky’s bed, helping him to dismantle and strip various pieces of equipment for useful parts as he talked about the changes in the Order. He’d been over who was on the High Council--Asajj remembered that they were the ruling body of the Order, from Master Ky’s descriptions--and answered questions about the Knights, Masters, and Padawans Master Ky asked after, people he’d known before he’d lost contact with the Order.

“And what of Master Yan Dooku? Is he well?” Master Ky asked.

“Oh, he’s quite well,” Knight Kenobi said. “I see him often, actually. He’s my Grand-Master.”

Master Ky paused, blinking at Knight Kenobi. “I see. Which of his apprentices was your Master?”

Kenobi grinned widely. “Master Jinn.”

“Oh my,” Master Ky said, chuckling. “I remember him. I was a newer Knight, when he was first apprenticed. I swear Yan complained more during that apprenticeship than I’d ever heard from him before. Though he was very fond of him.”

“Their relationship hasn’t changed much,” Kenobi said dryly, though he was still smiling. “They spent about eight years avoiding each other, but they’ve reconciled now, thankfully. They’re simply both a bit… stubborn.”

Master Ky laughed, shaking his head. “That’s an apt descriptor, I would agree.” He grimaced suddenly, his hand going to his lower back before he smoothed the expression. Asajj frowned.

“Padawan,” Kenobi said suddenly, addressing Asajj, “would you walk with me?”

Asajj’s frown turned to a scowl, and she looked to Master Ky, who gave her a gentle, reassuring smile.

 _We can trust him_ , he assured her through their bond. For good measure, he sent a pulse of affection, and Asajj lifted her chin.

“Fine.”

She rose, waiting for Kenobi, and then followed him from the hut. He began walking back up the path toward the plateau, and Asajj kept her silence, waiting for him to speak first, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted from her.

“You have reservations about leaving this place,” Kenobi finally said. Asajj’s eyes narrowed. His tone hadn’t been… judgmental, or even _curious_. He was just… stating a fact.

“I made a vow,” Asajj told him. “I promised the people of Rattatak that they would one day be free. To leave before I’ve finished is…”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “I understand.” Asajj scowled. How could he possibly understand? As if sensing her thoughts, he continued, “When I was younger than you are now, my Master and I were sent to a world called Melida/Daan. They had been at war for generations. The children of the planet banded together, trying to end the fighting. We were sent to negotiate peace, but… my Master felt that objective could not be achieved. I disagreed.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back, staring straight ahead at the path without really seeing it, his eyes far away as he remembered that time. “I identified with the Young. I chose to remain behind, when my Master left, to fight with them. I did not want to leave before peace had been achieved and everyone was free to simply _live_ . The story has a happy ending, with the Young securing peace, and my Master returning for me. But I _understand_ , Asajj. I do.”

To go against his Master… Asajj stopped walking, Kenobi stopping himself and turning to her. She folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “Master Ky would stay, if I told him I wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Kenobi’s smile was sad. “You’re right, of course. Your Master is quite devoted to you,” he agreed. “But, young one, you _must_ see it. He is wounded. He is not the man he once was. To stay here would kill him, and sooner rather than later, I think.”

“Then I will remain behind, and you force him to go,” Asajj said, her eyes filling with tears. The decision tore at her heart, and she didn’t know how she would do it, without him, but she made a _promise_.

Kenobi shook his head slowly. “Sometimes, you must concede the battle to win the war,” he said softly, a sort of hardened, old grief etched onto his face that Asajj knew she didn’t have the experience to understand. “From what I can sense of you, you are becoming a remarkable Jedi, strong in the Force. But you are not ready to take this on, not alone. I know that you know that.” Asajj scowled at him, trying to fight back the tears of frustration that threatened to fall. “This does not have to be the end. It can be a… strategic retreat. Go to the Temple. Give your Master time to heal, give your skills time to improve. The Temple provides opportunities to learn things you cannot otherwise. Take the opportunity, Padawan. Be with your own kind. Become the Jedi Knight who _will_ one day return to Rattatak to secure their freedom, not the Padawan who would break her Master’s heart by remaining behind only to be killed, or worse. Live to fight another day.”

Asajj shook, her fists clenching at her sides, the tears finally beginning to fall. “It’s not _fair_.”

Kenobi’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “No, it isn’t. But one day, you will be able to make it right.” He paused, studying her, and Asajj scowled up at him, reaching up to scrub away the tears. “Keep that fighting spirit, Asajj. Injustices should never become _easy_ to bear. Promises should never be easy to break. But this one will not be broken: you _can_ return one day. You _can_ come back, stronger, more knowledgeable, more experienced, to help the people of Rattatak. But right now, you are a Padawan Learner, and your place is with your Master. Your place is with our Order.” Slowly, Kenobi reached out and squeezed one of her shoulders gently. “Will you come home with us?”

Asajj _hated_ it, but… Kenobi was right. She _wasn’t_ strong enough to free Rattatak, not by herself, and… she’d seen it. She’d seen the way that Master Ky sometimes woke early, as he always did, but didn’t get out of bed, probably because it hurt too much to sit up--just like he had that morning. She’d seen the way that he shied away from the flips he’d used to show her in their ‘saber training. She’d seen the way he had become a bit slower to block, his energy drained faster and faster lately. Her Master _was_ injured, and he was getting older, and she knew he was vulnerable, and even together, they hadn’t been able to secure Rattatak’s freedom. He was only going to get _worse_ if he stayed, and Asajj…

If the only person Asajj could save was Master Ky, and if she could only do it by leaving, then that was what she had to do.

She nodded. “Fine. But I _will_ come back.”

Kenobi smiled at her. “I’m certain you will. Come on, then. Let’s get you back to your Master.”

* * *

Asajj strapped herself into the little freighter--small enough for the cloaking device to work well, but not _too_ small; Kenobi, at least, had separate sleeping quarters from the berth she would share with her Master on their trip to Coruscant. She folded her hands together, clasping them tightly in her lap.

She’d never flown before--well, not that she _remembered_ , though she knew she must have been flown to Rattatak from whatever planet the slavers had taken her from. There had never been an opportunity, not on Rattatak. The warlords shot down any ship that approached, and no one friendly to the resistance or the Jedi had ever been able to land before now. Master Ky turned around in the copilot’s chair, giving her gentle, reassuring smile before turning back to the controls.

“Engines have idled long enough,” Kenobi declared cheerfully, “time for the cloak.” The mere sound of his voice brought a scowl to Asajj’s face. She didn’t _know_ why, not really, only that his nearly-incessant _cheerfulness_ grated at her. It was almost as if… as if hearing about a small portion of what he’d been through, and seeing that grief that he carried with him, made her feel like she was… lesser. She’d been through some difficult times, yes, but not… not as many as Kenobi, she thought. But that he was still cheerful and she couldn’t manage it made her… frustrated.

Master Ky had told her not to worry, only to release the emotions into the Force as soon as she was done _feeling_ them. He’d said that she was “of that age,” and teenagers were more volatile through no fault of their own, but due to the hormones in their body betraying their control.

Asajj didn’t like that explanation. Asajj didn’t like it when _anything_ fell outside of her control. Her laced fingers tightened together, knuckles paling under the tension, as she heard the thrusters start. She closed her eyes and desperately reached for the Force. A sort of distant calm fell over her as they rose from between the rocky outcrops and over the first mountain. She saw the planet as she did when she and Master Ky were meditating, a sea of interwoven Dark and Light.

In the Force, laid out before her, was an endless field of black, dotted by shining stars, burning far brighter than any of the lights on Rattatak.

“Kark,” she heard Kenobi mutter. “There are quite a few ships out and about today. They haven’t spotted us, thankfully, but I’ll have to perform some… interesting maneuvres. Check your straps.”

Asajj pulled at the harness without opening her eyes, still clinging to the Force, trying to allow it to swallow her fear. It didn’t quite work, and only a moment later, the ship was _tilting_ sharply--

Her eyes flew open at the sensation, and she watched through the pane of transparisteel as Kenobi twirled them between two of the warlord’s patrol ships, killing the engines for the briefest of moments as they passed between them so that they wouldn’t pick up their ion trail, the only trace not smothered by the cloak, at least not at such a close range. For a terrifying instant, the ship was _falling_ \--

She realized she was holding her breath as Kenobi cut the engines back on, and she gasped desperately as they whirred back to life.

 _It will be alright, Padawan_ , Master Ky said, and Asajj clung to his presence in her mind, that thread of steady reassurance he always provided.

“Hold on,” Kenobi said, “I’m about to do something… reckless.”

“What--” Master Ky was interrupted by a loud _hum_ , and the sky in front of the ship _streaked_ , and then--

Asajj gasped. She had never seen so much water in her _life_ . Where _were_ they? The planet below them looked so _blue_ , and there were patches of green forest and jungle wherever the land rose from the water, and--

The image _blurred_ and _streaked_ again, and then all she saw was the black of space, white lights in straight lines going past. Were those _stars_?

“Are we in hyperspace?” Asajj asked dully. Was that _really_ all it took to leave the planet they'd been stuck on for _so long_?

“Yes,” Kenobi sighed, slumping a bit. He tapped a few buttons on the dash and spun around, unclipping his harness as he went. “That wasn’t so bad. And at least with the lightspeed-skip they won’t be able to follow us, even if they did catch our signature.”

“You’re quite an adept pilot,” Master Ky said slowly. Kenobi grimaced.

“I hate flying,” he said flatly. “I aim to do it as effectively as possible so I may do it for as _brief_ a time as possible.” Kenobi shook his head. “I have the autopilot engaged, and we shouldn’t need to do more than check the course for the next three days, until we reach Coruscant.” He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “There is… I brought you both a few things. To prepare, before we reach the Temple.”

“Oh?” Master Ky asked, unclipping his own harness. Asajj made no move to undo hers, not yet. She was still shaking far too badly, and she didn’t want them to see the way her fingers trembled.

“For you, Master Ky,” he said, reaching into the pocket behind the pilot’s chair and withdrawing two datapads, “Temple reports. There have been several major events in Republic space, since you’ve been away. Both the summaries and full reports are all on here.” He handed one to Master Ky, and then he turned to Asajj. “This is for you. It’s a list of Temple courses you could choose to study. I imagine that the Council will wish to keep you on Coruscant for a time, and you’ll have plenty of classes to occupy you. If you aren’t sure what the course is, simply selecting it will give you a summary of the course material. Some of the placement tests are on the ‘pad as well, to give you an idea of what you are stronger in, and which classes you might consider to broaden your knowledge base.”

That was a kind way of saying that it would be an easy and less embarrassing method for Asajj to figure out where she was _behind_ , and she scowled at him, but took the ‘pad.

“Thank you, Knight Kenobi,” he said, nodding to him. Master Ky looked to Asajj, raising an eyebrow. Her scowl grew more pronounced, but she bowed her head to hide it.

“Thank you, Knight Kenobi,” she repeated.

“You’re both quite welcome,” he said. “Well, we’re all free to move about the ship now, and I am _desperate_ for tea. Shall I make enough for three?”

“Yes, thank you,” Master Ky answered for them both. Kenobi nodded, smiling at them, and left the cockpit. Master Ky knelt down in front of Asajj, and she frowned as he winced at the motion, feeling guilty for not having just gotten up. “Are you alright, little one?”

“Yes,” Asajj said quickly, “I’m fine.” Master Ky continued to simply stare at her expectantly, patiently, his large brown eyes soft, and Asajj scowled. “I’m _fine_ , Master. This is all just… new. Different.”

Slowly, he nodded, a sheepish expression coming over him. “In that case, would you mind helping your old Master up?”

Asajj rolled her eyes, but it gave her the motivation she needed to finally unclip the harness and stand up, taking her Master’s hands and gently pulling him back to his feet. He grimaced again at the movement and took one hand away from hers to rub at his back, the other hand squeezing hers gently.

“Knight Kenobi informed me that the Temple healers might be able to do something about this back of mine,” he said, grinning at her. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

Asajj smiled back, but it faltered quickly. She turned her gaze down to the metal plating on the floor, biting the inside of her cheek before asking, “Master, what will happen when we get to the Temple?”

Master Ky sighed and shifted them to put an arm around her shoulders, guiding them both out of the cockpit towards their room. Asajj was grateful for the privacy, disliking it when anyone _but_ Master Ky saw her… vulnerable. Sometimes even when Master Ky saw her this way.

As soon as he had settled them both side by side on one of the well-padded bunks, his arm still around her shoulders, he answered, “First, I imagine we will report to the Council. Master Windu knows now that I’ve taken you as my Padawan, but the Council still confirms all partnerships as soon as they are able,” he told her. “Then we will be given quarters to live in, and new clothes, I expect. Especially since your hems are getting a bit short again.” He leaned back slightly to eye Asajj, and she rolled her eyes. His teasing about how fast she grew was getting _old_. He simply smiled at her. “Then, I will go to the Halls of Healing, to see what can be done to get me back in fighting shape, and you will begin taking classes with other Padawans.”

“But… I’ll be so different,” she said softly. “They’ve all grown up in the Temple, like you did, and I didn’t.”

“That makes you no less a Jedi, Asajj,” Master Ky said firmly. “Your peers may be… intimidated by you, at first. Your entire apprenticeship has been in the field, after all, and most of them will have little experience outside of the Temple, in comparison. But I have every confidence in you. You are strong in the Force, and I have raised you as a Jedi.” His smile turned fond, then. “And you are becoming an excellent Jedi, Asajj.”

She ducked her head to hide her blush, impulsively burrowing her face into her Master’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, muffled into his rough tunics. “I’m glad you’re getting to see the Temple again.”

“And I am glad you will get to see it with me,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

* * *

The next two days were… frustrating and uncomfortable for Asajj. She could _feel_ her Master’s shock and pain as he read through whatever Kenobi had put on that datapad. Many times, it was flares of old grief--he could feel it when some Jedi died, he’d explained to her long ago, even if they were systems away, if they had a strong enough bond. But there were other deaths that came as a surprise to him--while Asajj didn’t ask, and Master Ky never volunteered the information, but the kind of grief she felt from him only had one explanation.

Her own ‘pad was just as frustrating to her. She had scored astronomically high on mechanical aptitude, tactics, and negotiation, but dismally _low_ on everything else. But really, why were _poetry_ and _Pre-Reformation History_ required courses?

And then, toward the end of the second day, Asajj was lying down in the bunk, trying not to think about what would happen when they got to the Temple, trying not to think about _anything_ , but not ready to meditate yet, when she felt it.

 _Shock-horror-awe-_ **_fear_ ** echoed through the ship, and it was especially potent in the bond she shared with Master Ky. Asajj sat straight up--that had to be coming from him.

Rising, she made her way to the little galley, where her Master had decided to continue his reading for the morning. He was sitting perfectly still, one hand over his mouth, his eyes wide, staring down at the datapad lying on the table in front of him. Asajj felt a bolt of alarm as she realized he was _shaking_.

“Master?” she said. It came out as a whisper. Master Ky’s head snapped up, and he stared at her.

“Padawan,” he rasped, and his eyes were wet with tears, she realized. He lowered his hand from his mouth and opened his arms. Unquestioningly, Asajj threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around his middle as his surrounded her, rubbing her back.

“What’s wrong, Master?”

“Asajj…” Master Ky’s voice shook, and he took a deep breath. “Do you remember our lessons on the Dark Side of the Force? What I taught you about how to recognize its call and avoid it?” She nodded against his shoulder. “Do you remember what I taught you of the Sith?”

Asajj frowned, thinking. “Yes,” she said slowly. “They were the enemies of the Jedi a long time ago. There were massive galactic wars because of them. They were the closest thing to pure evil to exist in the galaxy. But the Jedi destroyed them at the end of the last war.” Master Ky stiffened, and Asajj drew back enough to look at him. “Didn’t they?”

“The Sith have returned,” he murmured. “That’s… the report I was reading.”

“The Sith haven’t _returned_.” Master Ky looked past Asajj to the doorway, and Asajj twisted to follow his gaze, looking at Kenobi standing in the doorway, gaze distant, expression inscrutable. “They were never destroyed. They have been hiding, all this time.”

“You killed him,” Master Ky said dully, “the Sith on Naboo.” Kenobi nodded sharply. “You were a _Padawan_ . Forgive me, I don’t mean to offend, but how do we know he _was_ a Sith, and not some pretender? Again, I mean no offense, but you were a _Padawan_.”

Kenobi paused, grimacing. “We’ve uncovered traces of another. The Rule of Two...”

Master Ky sucked in a breath, and Asajj frowned, knowing that there was meaning in that that she did not understand. But now was not the time to ask questions.

“ _Kriffing_ Hels,” Master Ky swore, and Asajj drew back, startled. Her Master _never_ swore. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he squeezed the arm still around her shoulders gently. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “He nearly killed your Master.”

“Yes,” Kenobi whispered, staring, unseeing, at the floor, “it was a near thing. Very near.”

Unwillingly, Asajj remembered the day her first master had died. She remembered the day that Master Ky had been shot in the back, the injury that had nearly killed him and had weakened him so drastically. Her arms tightened around him, and he hugged her back.

For a long moment, there was silence, and then Master Ky said, “You must be an impressive duelist. If I were at my best, I should think I would have liked a spar.”

Kenobi smiled faintly, his gaze still distant. “When you _are_ at your best again, Master Narec, I will look forward to it.”

* * *

Asajj was not quite as nervous as she strapped herself in as they prepared to leave hyperspace. Well, she wasn’t as nervous about the _flying_ . She was still anxious about what would happen when they reached the Temple, and she had _tried_ to release it into the Force, but she hadn’t been all that successful. She’d buried it under the shields Master Ky had showed her how to create--she knew how happy her Master was about going home, and Asajj didn’t want her feelings to spoil his happiness.

But it also had left her to _stew_ in it on her own, and maybe that hadn’t been the _best_ plan.

She sighed as she settled into her seat, and Master Ky squeezed her shoulder before turning back around to the controls. Asajj took a deep breath as they came out of hyperspace and--

Her eyes widened. “ _That’s_ Coruscant?”

“Yes, Padawan,” Master Ky said, his voice filled with almost as much wonder and disbelief as her own. 

The entire _planet_ was covered in lights, the whole world becoming one massive city, and the planet was roped with different lines of ships. Their own craft bypassed these, and Kenobi clicked on the comms.

“This is Knight Kenobi, requesting Temple landing clearance.”

“ _Knight Kenobi, you are cleared to land in dock T-1,_ ” someone replied, and Kenobi’s eyebrows rose.

“Thank you.” He clicked off the comms and turned to his passengers. “Priority clearance. They really are happy to see you.” Kenobi winked, and Asajj scowled, mostly to ward off the blush that was threatening to rise. He was, admittedly, rather handsome.

Kenobi slowed them significantly as they approached the city-planet’s surface, and Asajj got her first look at the Jedi Temple. Looking at it, with its spires and ziggurat, it was _exactly_ as Master Ky had described it. Even so, she hadn’t imagined how _large_ it would be.

Just how many Jedi _were there_?

Kenobi brought them in to one of the rooftop landing pads and killed the engines before unclipping himself, Master Ky following eagerly. Asajj stayed where she was, gripping either side of her seat _hard_. Kenobi looked at her and gave her a small, gentle smile before making his way out of the cockpit, leaving the apprentice alone with her Master.

“Asajj? What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“This is just… so different,” she said, and it felt like it wasn’t enough to truly describe how _terrifying_ all of this was. But Master Ky knew her well, he knew her best of anyone alive, and he smiled gently and unclipped her harness for her, pulling her up and into a hug.

“Everything will be alright, little one,” he murmured. “This is a good thing, I promise. This isn’t just _my_ home--it will become yours, too.”

Asajj allowed herself one moment to be childish about this, clinging tightly to her Master, burying her face into his shoulder, before she drew back and nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

His smile was worth it.

Kenobi, it seemed, had waited for them to be finished before opening the ship. The instant the ramp had lowered and the doors were open, Asajj heard a shout, and her hand flinched toward her ‘saber before she recognized what was happening: a small child was running full-tilt at Kenobi, shouting his name. Kenobi only laughed and made sure he was out of the way of the ramp, not blocking their own path, before he sank to one knee and opened his arms. The child barreled into him, speaking so rapidly Asajj didn’t even recognize if he was speaking Basic.

“Ani, Ani, slow down,” Kenobi laughed. “One question at a time. Yes, I’m fine; no, I did not bring you pallies, they wouldn’t have kept well; yes, I did bring you the dried peppers you asked for.”

“Thank you, Obi!” the boy--Ani, apparently--said. It was then that he processed Asajj and Master Ky. “Um, hi!” He pulled away from Kenobi to bow clumsily.

“Hello, Initiate,” Master Ky greeted him gently. “I am Master Ky Narec, and this is my Padawan, Asajj Ventress.” He bowed, and Asajj copied him.

“Pleased to meet you! ‘M Anakin Skywalker,” the boy said, grinning broadly. “You’re Master Yan’s friend, right?”

“I am,” Master Narec said. Anakin whooped.

“He’ll be really happy you’re here,” Anakin told them. He leaned towards them, looking far too serious for a child. “He broods a lot. Like Obi-Wan.”

“I am _right here_ , Anakin. I can hear you,” Kenobi sighed, rolling his eyes. Anakin giggled, and then turned around.

“Oh, Master Mace is here! Hi, Master Mace!” Anakin had to shout to be heard, and half of the landing pad staff glanced over. Kenobi huffed and rolled his eyes again, ruffling the boy’s hair. Anakin squawked and glared at him; Kenobi merely smiled as he stood to bow at the approaching Master.

So this was Mace Windu, the man on the comm on Rattatak. Asajj studied him as he approached: he was younger than she’d expected, for a Master, with dark, smooth skin, no hair, and kind dark eyes. When he got close enough, Asajj could see that he was smiling slightly.

Master Ky bowed again, and again Asajj hastily copied him--bowing wasn’t a particularly popular greeting on Rattatak, especially not when they spent most of their time trying not to be found out as the Jedi they were. Master Windu bowed back.

“Master Narec, it is a relief to see you again,” he said warmly.

“I am glad to be home, Master Windu,” her Master said, his own relief clear in his voice and his smile. Master Windu looked to Asajj.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan,” he greeted her.

“...you as well, Master,” Asajj managed, suddenly shy. Master Ky squeezed her shoulder gently, prompting her to keep descending the landing platform.

“We’ll get you to the Quartermaster first,” Master Windu said. “Your meeting with the Council will keep until tomorrow; I understand you kept mission logs?” Master Ky nodded slowly. “We’ll need some time to review them, and you’ll need time to settle in. Knight Kenobi, you know where your first stop will be.” Kenobi groaned.

“Master Windu, I can assure you that _won’t_ be necessary--”

Windu raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest, glaring lightly at the Knight. “Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell Master Che that. So good luck.” Kenobi groaned again and Anakin giggled. “In fact, I think I’d better send Initiate Skywalker with you to make sure you actually go to the Halls.”

“Of course, Master Mace,” the boy said, his tone far too grave, but he was smiling, his eyes bright with amusement. “I’ll make sure he gets there, even if I have to start pouting to convince him.”

Windu’s serious expression broke, and he snorted, shaking his head. “Master Narec, I’ll escort you and your Padawan to the Quartermaster.” Master Ky nodded and gestured for him to lead on.

* * *

The Temple seemed even bigger on the inside, although Asajj knew that such a thing wasn’t possible. She had been trained to be able to at least trace her path back to where she’d started, on Rattatak, but _this_ … Hallways were everywhere, interspersed by doors and rooms and, every once in a while, larger rooms that had _several_ hallways branching off from them. Asajj hadn’t even been in the Temple for ten minutes before she felt lost, and she knew there was no way she could make it back to the hangar by memory alone.

And the Quartermaster’s was… overwhelming. They gave them so many _things_ , and Asajj didn’t know what half of the fancy soaps they gave her were made of, and they wanted her opinion on what sorts of tunics she’d like to wear, and she’d just blinked at the Besalisk Master before saying, “...black ones.” He’d blinked back at her, and then tried to clarify which _style_ she’d like, and Asajj had looked to her Master for help.

“Both traditional and simplified, please. I expect she’d also like purple,” Master Ky said, giving Asajj a slow wink. Her shoulders had slumped in relief.

Once their arms were weighed down by crates filled with their new clothes and toiletries, the Quartermaster issued them a room assignment--and Master Windu had sighed.

“We’ll have your things dropped off. If you’d both like to grab a change of clothes, we’ll have to make our own stop in the Halls,” he sighed. “Master Che will not be pleased if I allow the two of you throughout the Temple proper without being cleared, first.”

“Especially since no one else has visited the planet in the last decade, at least,” Master Ky agreed. “No telling what strange illnesses we’d be bringing by.” Asajj knew that the explanation was mostly for her benefit, and she was quietly grateful for it even as she scowled.

Hesitating for only a moment before grabbing a set of dark purple tunics with a black obi, Asajj nodded to her Master and they set off again, trailing after Master Windu.

One of the halls he led them through opened up into a multi-tiered, _enormous_ , almost cavernous hallway; the ceilings were high, and tall pillars rose up and up and up and she had to crane her neck back to see the ceiling so far above them.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“This is the Main Hall,” Master Ky told her softly, nodding as they passed other Jedi. “This version was rebuilt after the Sacking of Coruscant about three millenia ago.”

Asajj blinked. That was… older than she could imagine. She nodded slowly, staring wide-eyed at the hall around them. They crossed it quickly, and she was a bit disappointed to leave it behind, especially when they crossed into a set of hallways painted soothing shades of blue and green. Healers, _ugh_.

They approached the front desk just as Kenobi and the boy, Anakin, were heading out. The two of them stopped, and Asajj raised an eyebrow at their clasped hands, smirking. Kenobi merely smiled at her, and Anakin raised his chin, as though daring her to say something. She rolled her eyes back, and he grinned at her.

“Ah, Master Narec, Padawan Venteress, we meet again,” Kenobi said, winking at them. Master Ky laughed and shook his head. “Well, at least I didn’t pick up any sort of infestation in the time I was down there.” For some reason, that made Master Windu wince, and Asajj just _knew_ there was a story there. “Your turn, I suppose.”

“Ah, there you are!” Another Jedi said, a Twi’lek woman with a lightsaber on her hip, although her tunics were far simpler, and blue. “I’m Vokara Che, Master Healer. And the two of you are _very_ overdue for your regular check-ups. Come with me, please.”

She turned on her heel, expecting them to follow, and Master Ky shook his head before waving a quick goodbye to the others, nudging Asajj along when she hesitated.

The woman led them to a room with a bed and two chairs, waving at the bed. “Who’d like to go first?”

“My Padawan’s exam will be quicker, I think,” he sighed. “Want to get it over with?” She nodded reluctantly and sat down on the bed, her Master taking the chair just behind her. Master Che nodded and turned to a cabinet against one wall, pulling out some sort of scanner.

“Alright, a general scan for any issues, a simple blood test, and a quick history, and we’ll be done,” she said, and began waving the scanner around over her body. The diode at the tip turned various colors, the machine beeping slightly, and Master Che frowned. “Have you broken many bones?”

“A few,” Asajj answered. “My ribs, at one point, but they were just cracked, not actually _broken_. I broke my left arm, and my right leg, a while ago. Long fall onto some big rocks. I was too concussed to use the Force to slow myself that time.” She shrugged.

“I see,” Master Che said. “Well, you’re in good shape, not ill, although I’d like you to gain some weight.”

“She wasn’t so bad off, until her growth spurts started,” Master Ky said, sighing. Asajj rolled her eyes. Of course he had to make _another_ comment about it.

“I’m not surprised,” Master Che said, smiling. “She is tall for her age. Now, just a quick blood sample. Finger, please.” She pricked one of Asajj’s fingers, and slipped the device into a terminal in the corner. Turning back around, she picked up a datapad and faced Asajj. “Now, medical history. Any major illnesses?”

“Some sort of fever a few years ago,” Asajj said, looking to her Master, who shook his head.

“We aren’t sure what it was, but she was bedridden for over three weeks,” Master Ky said, “but I never noticed any lingering effects. She recovered well.” Master Che nodded.

“Any allergies?”

“Koja berries, but I doubt that will be a problem,” Master Ky said, smiling lightly. “They are native to the planet we were on, and let us just say that they don’t export much of anything. I doubt we’ll come into contact with them.”

“Still, she may be allergic to other berries,” Master Che pointed out. “We’ll get a test done to be sure. I at least want to rule out what’s regularly served here before you take your chances in the refectory.” Master Ky nodded. “Alright, any aches or pains, any chronic issues of any kind?”

Asajj shrugged. “My joints ache, but Master Ky says that’s just the growth spurts. I get headaches sometimes, but Master Ky said that’s more to do with dehydration than anything. We were on a desert planet.”

Master Che nodded in satisfaction, turning back around to consult the terminal. “Well, you’re healthy, overall. I’d like you to gain weight, and we’ll need to watch your iron, but it’s nothing that won’t be resolved by a proper diet. You have an impressive midichlorian count, Padawan. Just over 13,000.”

“Oh,” Asajj said, blinking. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, really. Master Ky had told her about midichlorians, but they’d never had the equipment available to actually test her. They hadn’t meant much to her, really, though it was nice to be complimented.

“If you’d like to shower and change, there’s a fresher through there,” Master Che said, pointing toward another door behind her. Asajj nodded, picking the purple robes back up and heading for the ‘fresher.

When she came out, hair still a bit damp from a _real water shower_ , Master Ky smiled broadly at the sight of her in the robes.

“That suits you,” he said, and she scowled, but knew that he could feel her spike of satisfaction.

“How bad off are you, old man?” she asked, and he snorted.

“I’ll live.”

“Your Master is going to need surgery, and a week in a bacta tank,” Master Che said bluntly. “Once we get that done, I’d estimate three to five months of recovery before you’re cleared for field work again. Light duty in maybe two to three months. But I do expect a full recovery.”

Master Ky smiled and nodded at her. “Thank you, Master Che.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling gently at him. “Now, if you’d like to go clean up yourself, I’ll call a Padawan to lead you to your new quarters.”

Master Ky nodded, squeezing Asajj’s shoulder before entering the ‘fresher. Master Che sat down in one of the chairs, activating the comm on her wrist, asking for a Padawan Eerin to come in five minutes. Given how long her own shower had been, Asajj wondered if her Master would need more time, but didn’t comment on it.

“Now, Padawan, do you have any questions?” Asajj blinked in surprise.

“Um, what sorts of questions?” she clarified slowly, and Master Che smiled at her softly, her lekku twitching.

“Any sort,” she said. “I’m used to being the first to really interact with new arrivals to the Temple. I get asked all sorts of questions.”

“Oh,” Asajj said. “Why did Kenobi have to come here? Because he was on a strange planet, and you wanted to make sure he didn’t pick up anything?”

“Knight Kenobi, dear,” Master Che corrected gently. “And yes, that’s part of the reason. But Knight Kenobi… I’ve known him practically his whole life, and I swear he has a special talent for getting himself hurt. He’s on mandatory visits after each mission. It’s not uncommon for field Jedi.”

“Oh,” Asajj answered. “Thank you. What… what happens now?”

“Well, once your Master is finished changing, we’ll have Padawan Eerin take you to your new quarters, and then tomorrow you’ll speak to the Council,” she said. “They’ll want to confirm your position as his Padawan, and ask a few questions about what you’ve being doing these past years. I imagine they’ll arrange for placement testing, and then you’ll begin taking classes with your fellow Padawans.

“At some point, preferably soon, your Master will need to be in the Halls for a week or so after we perform the surgery for his back. We’ll find someone else for you to stay with, or to join you in your quarters, while he’s here. But no need to worry about that yet,” Master Che assured her. “Just focus on the new quarters you’ll be going to. I hear they have a fantastic view.”

Asajj nodded slowly. That matched, at least, with what Master Ky had told her, and it was nice to have it confirmed. After a short knock, the door slid open and Asajj blinked at the Jedi--Padawan Eerin, she thought this must be. She was pink-skinned, hairless, with large eyes and a broad smile. Asajj had never seen anything like her before--judging from the webbed hands, she was from an aquatic world. No wonder she hadn’t seen any of them on Rattatak.

“Padawan Ventress,” the older girl greeted her, bowing slightly. Asajj stood up to bow back. “Padawan Bant Eerin. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“You too,” Asajj answered. Apparently that was a thing Jedi said, and she filed it away for next time.

Master Ky emerged from the ‘fresher, his hair untied and still damp, just as hers had been, falling down around his shoulders. She hadn’t quite realized how long it had gotten. Maybe she’d offer to braid it for him tonight--he’d always liked that.

“Ah, Master Narec,” Padawan Eerin said, bowing. He bowed back. “Padawan Bant Eerin. It’s good to have you back, Master.”

“I remember you,” Master Ky said, smiling at her. “I taught your introductory course on jar’kai.”

Padawan Eerin smiled back, nodding. “Well, your room assignment is in block J, so it’s a bit of a walk. Shall we?”

* * *

Asajj’s head was spinning by the time they reached their new quarters. They’d taken two sets of stairs, one turbolift, and dozens of hallways to get to the door of their new quarters.

That settled it. She was going to need a map.

“Thank you, Padawan Eerin,” Master Ky said, and Asajj remembered to bow along with him this time. Eerin bowed back, smiling.

“The Council will comm in a bit to let you know the time for your meeting tomorrow,” she told them, and Master Ky nodded. She took her leave, and Master Ky palmed the door panel, the door opening with a soft _woosh_ , and Asajj cautiously followed him inside.

She gaped at the rooms inside. There was a living room with an _actual couch_ , dark green with cushions and puffy pillows, and there was carpet covering the floor, and it looked so soft, and there was an actual, solid wooden table and chairs next to a _full kitchen_ , and there were plants in the sills of the very large windows on the back wall, letting in the light and giving them a view of the Coruscant skyline.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is all just for us?”

“Yes,” Master Ky answered. “I’m sure the bedrooms and ‘fresher are down that hallway. Why don’t we go see your new bedroom?”

Asajj nodded slowly, her mind still reeling at the idea of having an entire space to _herself_ . It had been just her and Master Ky for so long, living in their little one-room hut, and while she was looking forward to finally having some _privacy_ , it was… strange. She wondered how she would sleep without being able to hear him breathing, the constant affirmation that he was _there_ and _alive_.

She followed her Master down the hallway, and just as he’d said, there were two rooms. Master Ky smiled and gestured to the one on the left, and she nodded; the door opened automatically as she approached. There was a bed--an _actual bed_ , with a sleep couch, and blankets--she ran her hand over the dark purple blanket, smiling at the softness of it. There was a wooden desk with a chair, several datapads stacked neatly on top, and a commlink, and when she checked the closet, her new clothes had already been hung up for her.

Asajj turned and crossed the hall to look into her Master’s room, smiling when she saw him stretched out on the large bed, his hands behind his head, smiling widely.

“A _bed_ , Padawan,” he sighed. “A real _bed_. I swear my back has never felt this good.”

Asajj laughed and impulsively leapt over, throwing herself down beside him. He grinned at her and moved one hand, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to his side. She sighed and put her head on his chest.

“This is a good thing, isn’t it, Master? Being here?” she asked. He hummed.

“Yes, little one,” he answered. “It is. For both of us.”

* * *

It was nearly time for dinner, and Master Ky had just suggested testing his memory and trying to find a dining hall when their door chimed. Master Ky started to get up from the couch, but Asajj caught his slight grimace as his back twinged again, and she glared at him before scampering over to answer it herself.

Their visitor was _tall_ , and Asajj blinked up at him. He was broad-shouldered, too, just a _massive_ man, smiling down at her gently. He had long hair, brown starting to be shot through with streaks of grey, a beard, and a crooked nose.

“Hello, Master,” Asajj said, remembering to bow.

“Hello, Padawan,” the man answered. “I saw that I had new neighbors and thought I might introduce myself. Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Asajj Ventress, Master. Nice to meet you,” Asajj said quickly, and his lips twitched in a wider grin. “Would you like to come in?” He nodded, and she stepped aside.

“We have company, Master,” Asajj said, and then Master Ky was pushing himself up from the couch, clearly ignoring the pain he was in, and smiling broadly.

“Qui-Gon? Force, has it really been so long? Last time I saw you, you were an eighteen-year-old Padawan yourself,” Master Ky said.

“Yes, I was out of the Temple consistently for years after my Knighting, and then you were on your own… extended mission.” Master Ky snorted.

“That’s a polite way of saying I got myself stranded,” he laughed. “But I believe it was the will of the Force. I wouldn’t have found my Padawan, otherwise.” He sent Asajj a warm look, and she scowled and quickly looked down at the floor. “Even so, my thanks to your former Padawan for the ride home.”

“Ah, that does explain things,” Master Jinn hummed. “Obi-Wan merely said he had a stop-over to make, collecting an overdue Master and his Padawan. He did not say _who_ , however. He likely intended it to be a surprise for Yan.”

“Yes, he did say that they see each other frequently,” Master Ky said. “Frankly, I was surprised, but I’m glad to hear that the two of you are getting along better than I recalled you did, at least.”

Master Jinn laughed. “We… tolerate one another, for the sake of our lineage,” he said, but there was something exasperatedly _fond_ in his voice. “And my imp of a former apprentice suggested that I invite you over for dinner tonight. We have them weekly, when we’re all in-Temple, and I’m certain Yan would be pleased to see you, and meet your Padawan.”

Master Ky looked to Asajj, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded slowly. The chance to meet one of her Master’s actual _friends_ was too good to pass up.

“Thank you, Qui-Gon. We’d be glad to join you.”

Master Jinn smiled and nodded. “Everyone will be arriving in half an hour or so, and my rooms are just down the hall, J-329.”

“We’ll be there,” Master Ky assured him, and then he hesitated for just a moment before adding, “I am very glad to see you’re recovering well. I heard what happened on Naboo.”

Master Jinn’s smile dimmed somewhat, but he nodded his thanks. “If it were not for Obi-Wan, I doubt I would have survived. But between the Force and his stubbornness, Master Che tells me I will fully recover. Eventually.”

Master Ky’s smile was broad and pleased. “I am glad to hear it, Qui-Gon.”

Master Jinn nodded. “I’ll see you both for dinner, then.”

* * *

Asajj was, honestly, expecting quarters like theirs, but Master Jinn’s quarters were vastly different. The couch was lower, and looked worn, comfortably broken in, and the table was far lower, surrounded by cushions rather than chairs. And there weren’t just plants in the windowsill, there were plants _everywhere_ \--on the caff table in front of the couch, on the shelves against the wall across from the couch, in the corner next to the dining table, on the counter in the kitchen. Everywhere she looked there was _green_.

She saw Kenobi in the kitchen, bickering mildly with an older Jedi, wearing dark grey robes, with salt-and-pepper hair, and ridiculously perfect posture.

“Welcome,” Master Jinn greeted them, “please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

“Get out of my kitchen, Grand-Master,” Kenobi said flatly. “I assure you, we _did_ put enough wine into the sauce, and I can take it from here.”

The older man sniffed haughtily, but made no reply, turning on his heel to leave the kitchen--he froze as he turned around and caught sight of Master Ky.

“Ky Narec?” he said, and Master Ky laughed, nodding.

“Yan,” he said, “it’s good to see you again, my friend.”

Master Yan--Asajj didn’t know if that was his first or last name--crossed the room quickly and swept her Master into a strong embrace. Master Ky hugged back just as eagerly. After a long moment, Master Yan let go, stepping back and fixing a curious gaze on Asajj.

“And who is this?”

“Asajj Ventress, Master,” she said, bowing. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it. The other Jedi seemed to bow _constantly_ \--her point was proven when Master Yan bowed back.

“My Padawan,” Master Ky added, and Master Yan blinked, something like recognition in his eyes, and then smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said to Asajj. “You found yourself a fine Master.”

She gave him a small, tentative smile, and Master Ky chuckled.

“You’ve never congratulated _me_ on my excellent Master,” Kenobi called from the kitchen. Master Yan scoffed.

“I did not have to raise Ky and constantly remind him not to leave his socks in the living room,” he said dryly. Master Jinn huffed indignantly beside them.

“Oh, that’s a fair point,” Kenobi said, clearly trying to hold back a laugh, “he still does that. I gave up on the habit ever changing years ago.”

The door chimed, and Master Jinn smiled, grateful for the interruption to that line of conversation. “That would be our straggler.” He moved to answer the door, and Asajj blinked as she recognized the little boy from the landing platform, Anakin, wearing his tunics with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi guys! And hi again, Master Narec, Padawan Ventress,” he said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Sorry I’m late--when Obi told me you two were coming to dinner, I wanted to stop and get you something.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Master Ky hummed. “Thank you, Initiate.”

“I don’t know you all that well yet, but I know Jedi like tea, so I brought you some of everything!” Anakin said, reaching into the bag to draw out a small box filled with flimsi bags of labelled, loose leaf tea.

“Thank you,” Master Ky said. “This is a lovely gift.”

“You’re welcome!” Anakin said brightly before turning to Asajj, who simply blinked at him. Whatever she’d expected from this dinner, it hadn’t been… this. “So, I was new to the Temple, too, for a while. I got here almost a year ago, and I had a really hard time remembering where everything was--’cause the Temple is _huge_ , just absolutely _giant_ , y’know? And Obi-Wan and I drew all these maps, but I don’t need them anymore, so I thought I’d give them to you!” He pulled out several sheets of flimsi, neatly bound with a clear cover. Asajj took it from him slowly.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful that she wouldn’t have to ask Master Ky to draw one for her, as she’d been thinking of doing.

“And, I, um, I got you something else, too, if it’s okay with your Master,” he said, suddenly a bit shy. He pulled a strand of decorative metal beads out of the bag, holding it up. “I noticed you don’t have a braid, and other Padawans that don’t have braids use these silka beads instead. I was thinking that, y’know, you could wear it until your hair grows out long enough for a braid.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Initiate,” Master Ky said. “Thank you very much. Would you like that, Asajj?”

Asajj made a face, considering the idea. “Would the beads just come out if they’re pulled on?” Master Ky laughed.

“We decided to forgo the braid after trying it for a time, as whenever we found ourselves in a fight, our adversaries tended to pull on it,” he explained to the others. “And yes, we can certainly arrange it so that if it’s tugged on, it will simply come out.”

Asajj nodded slowly, smiling. “Then yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”

Anakin beamed and then _hugged her_ , of all things. Asajj’s lip curled and she patted him on the head awkwardly. Anakin giggled and pulled away, bouncing off towards the kitchen where Kenobi was starting to transfer the food onto the table.

As they sat down to eat, Asajj couldn’t help the tension she felt. She’d rarely ever been surrounded by other people at mealtimes like this--in fact, she could count the number of times she and Master Ky had sat down to a real _meal_ on one hand. Most of the time, they had eaten what the could scavenge or hunt themselves, and only a few times, after they’d helped some of the Rattataki people, had they been treated to an actual _meal_. Of course, normally the Rattataki were in the same position they themselves were, scrounging for food and hunting where they could.

Asajj still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about being in the Temple. She didn’t know what her role would be here, how she should behave or what she should _do_ . She stell felt that flicker of _anxiety_ that she hadn’t been able to fully let go of yet.

But the food was delicious, and conversation between the Jedi around the table was easy, filling her and her Master in on the important, interesting, or amusing stories of the past ten years. Asajj saw her Master truly _relax_ and let his guard down for the first time in… well, _ever_.

Slowly, Asajj decided that maybe the Temple really would be a good thing. She owed it to Master Ky, anyway, to give it a chance, at least. Decision made, she did her best not to scowl throughout the rest of the meal.

* * *

Asajj shifted her weight, widening her stance; she was too well-trained and too experienced to show nerves by squirming, instead merely tensing for a fight. It was a battle habit, and Ky smiled sadly. She was impressive, his Padawan, but she had had to learn far too many cruel lessons for her young age.

“Now, when we enter the Council Chamber, I will stand to the right, and you will stand just behind me to the left,” Ky explained. “Then we bow. Wait for the Council to address us, and let me do the talking, unless they call on you directly.”

“Yes, Master,” Asajj agreed, quietly relieved not to be expected to carry a conversation. Ky reached out to squeeze her shoulder gently.

“They won’t bite, Padawan. And you’ve already met Master Windu.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but did not have a chance to reply as the doors swung open.

Asajj was momentarily distracted, examining the tiled mosaic floor, the ring of seats occupied by _so many_ different species, all radiating _serenity-peace-Light_ in the Force, and the tall windows behind them with a dazzling view of the city-planet and the traffic whizzing by. She shook her head slightly and made to catch up to her Master, keeping just behind him as she’d been instructed. They stopped in the center of a circle formed by the mosaic, and bowed.

“Masters,” Ky greeted them.

“Master Narec.” Asajj looked over at the man who had spoken, a tiny little green thing with white whisps of hair, holding a gnarled stick. “Good to see you well, it is. Gone, we had thought you to be.” He felt _warm-kind-joyful_ in the Force, and Asajj tentatively decided that she liked him. He turned his large eyes on her, giving her a slow, sleepy smile. “And you, young one. Introduce yourself to us, will you?”

“Asajj Ventress, Master. I am Master Narec’s Padawan Learner.”

The little Jedi’s smile grew wider. “Ah! Good, this is. Yes, yes, _good_! Always brighter, the Force is, when a student, the Order gains. Master Yoda, I am. The Temple, your Master’s home, it is. Your home, it will become.”

Asajj blinked, and then smiled back, bowing her head. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Beside her, Ky was glowing with _happiness-pride_ , and the room fell silent for a moment as they all basked in the sense of _rightness_ swelling in the Force.

“Master Narec,” Master Windu said, “could you give your account of the last ten years years?”

“Of course,” Ky said, clasping his hands behind his back. “In sum: I landed on a planet called Rattatak ten years ago. My ship was destroyed, and that was when I lost contact with the Temple. Rattatak is not in the Archives, nor on most maps--it’s just barely inside of the Unknown Regions, after all. In the wider galaxy, it is really known only to smugglers and slavers…”

He gave a brief summary of his time away, from discovering the tribal warlords who ruled Rattatak were slavers, in league with the pirates who raided the planet, to finding Asajj as a young child, a slave whose owner had just been killed. He took her on as his Padawan, scheming against the warlords and freeing slaves where they could, and trying to find a way off of the planet.

“Until three days ago, when Knight Kenobi came to collect us,” Ky explained, and then he paused thoughtfully. “Masters, he never did explain how he found us.”

“What did he tell you?” Master Windu asked.

“When I asked, he merely reminded me that ‘all things are possible, with the Force.’” A ripple of amusement went through the Councilors then.

“His usual excuse, that is,” Master Yoda said, shaking his head, a fond smile on his face. “Strong in the Unifying Force, Knight Kenobi is. Many visions he has. _Honest_ he was--guide him to you, the Force did. _Clear_ , he was not.”

Master Windu snorted. “He’s an infuriatingly cryptic bastard,” he muttered, and startled laughter rang through the Chambers. “But one of our best. In any case, I speak for all of us when I say that we’re glad he was able to bring the two of you home.”

“We are pleased to be here, Masters,” Master Ky said, his relief and happiness evident.

“There are only a few more matters to settle,” Master Windu continued, glancing down at the datapad he held. “Master Che has recommended corrective surgery for your back injury, requiring one to two weeks in the Halls. When would you like to schedule that?”

“In a few weeks, I think,” Master Ky answered. “That will give my Padawan time to complete her placement assessments and begin her classes. Once she is settled, I will go to the Halls.”

“Good,” Master Windu agreed, nodding. “And the matter of Padawan Ventress’s placement exams. I understand you completed quite a few in transit?” Asajj nodded once, and he hummed, looking back down at the datapad. “You did very well in mechanical aptitude, tactics, negotiation, and philosophy.” Asajj blinked; she hadn’t thought she’d done that well in philosophy. Most of it seemed… pointless to her. She had discussed it with Master Ky, when he insisted she learn, but she didn’t much see the point in that kind of endless thinking in circles when she needed to keep her focus on her surroundings, always vulnerable to attack. “We’ll have to schedule the exams we weren’t able to complete without having you here. Master Ky noted that he expects you’ll do well in your combat assessments.” Asajj blushed and quickly looked down at the floor, feeling tendrils of fond amusement from the Councilors and her Master both. “Master Ti will meet with you this afternoon to schedule the exams and explain the course requirements; there have been a few changes, since you’ve been away.”

“I should hope so,” Master Ky quipped, and the Councilors smiled indulgently.

“Nothing further has this Council for you now,” Master Yoda said gently. “Rest, you should, now that home, and safe, you are.”

“Yes, Masters. Thank you.”

Asajj smiled, an actual _smile_ , not a smirk, and certainly not a scowl as she bowed. She was starting to get the feeling that she could get used to this Temple life.

But she knew, one day, she’d have to leave. Asajj would never break her vow, after all. Rattatak _would_ be free, and she would see it done.

...though she supposed that, for now, there was no harm in enjoying being someplace calm and safe, with more creature comforts than Asajj had ever had before in her life--plus they would even be able to get her Master back into fighting shape. Yes, the Temple _was_ going to be a good thing.

If only just for now. 


	5. Shmi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU!!! Happy Star Wars Day, everyone!!!
> 
> This is a shorter chapter, and in light of it being Star Wars Day, I'm double updating! Next chapter will be put up this evening. :D
> 
> Also, I managed to hurt my wrist, so typing has gotten difficult. If I haven't managed to respond to your comment yet, please know that I appreciate you and I WILL get to responding as soon as I can! I read and appreciate every single one of them. <3 Thank you to everyone who left kudos, subscribed, and/or bookmarked this story!
> 
> Since this is Shmi's POV, this chapter will again reference Fialleril's Tatooine Slave Culture ideas!
> 
> MANDO'A:  
> buir: parent, gender neutral  
> ad: child, gender neutral  
> aliit: family/clan  
> Manda'yaim: Mandalore, the planet itself  
> Haat Mandoa'de: True Mandalorians  
> vod'e: brothers and sisters, can be used to mean "friend" or "comrade"  
> Su'cuy, ner ad'ika: Hello, my child.  
> Tion'gar'ad?: This is your child?  
> Tion'kaysh'gai?: What's their name?  
> Kaminiise: plural for Kaminoans, singular Kaminii  
> gar ade: your children  
> hu'tuunla: cowardly  
> dar'manda: someone who is no longer Mandalorian, someone believed to have lost their soul  
> Udesii, ad'ika, udesii: Calm down, little one, calm down.  
> cuun ade: our children

Shmi Skywalker _had things_ , now. She had never _owned_ anything before--not even herself. But she owned the beautiful, warm quilt that Ma Jira had pressed into her hands, bestowing a kiss on her forehead with a small smile and a warning that it would be colder in space than Shmi could know; she owned the matching set of blaster pistols she now wore on each hip after taking them from Gardulla’s men, with ivory grips and intricate carvings; she owned the vibroblade she had killed many _depur_ with, back on Tatooine, when she broke her chains.

She did not _own_ her room, but Jango had made it clear that this space on his ship was _hers_ for as long as she was with him. The room was small, with nothing beyond a bed, a footlocker, and a desk, but it was _hers_ . Jango had had that _look_ on his face, as though he wanted to apologize for not being able to give her more, but he said nothing, likely not wanting to belittle what she _did_ have. She was grateful for it.

The first month and a half on _Slave I_ \--and she could not pretend to understand why Jango had given his ship that name, except to punish himself for what had not been his fault, but had taken him from his people and thus harmed them, harm that he saw _himself_ as having done--they did not go anywhere. Jango had plenty of fuel and supplies on his ship, and they drifted in space, mostly sublight. Shmi enjoyed it, finding that the cold of space was worth it for the beauty of looking at the stars this way.

They found an easy routine. Each morning, Shmi would make breakfast, mostly because she was better at cooking than Jango, and he ate whatever she made with quiet thanks. Like many Amavikka, Jango was a man of few words and heavy thoughts, although she thought he may have been that way before his time in chains. When he spoke to her, his voice was calm and even, though not soft. He did not treat her like something delicate, the way that Obi-Wan had looked at her, and Shmi liked that.

After breakfast, they continued to sit at the table in the little galley kitchen, and Shmi learned. She had always _felt_ that there was so much she did not know, but now she _knew it_ , and her heart and mind hungered greedily for knowledge. She could read, but only Huttese and Bocce, and Jango taught her Basic alongside Mando’a. Shmi did not know if Mando’a fit her yet, but she liked the sound of it, and the feeling of the hard consonants and double vowels on her tongue.

And it was not so different from Amatakkan--she recognized the spark in Jango’s eyes when he spoke the language of his people, the language of his heart and his home. Mando’a was not _secret_ , not like Amatakkan was, but Jango had explained, in vague, clipped sentences riddled with pain, that Mando’a was no longer the primary language of Mandalore. So while it was not secret, not guarded closely against outsiders the way Amatakkan was, it was still something precious. She held each new word in her heart, whispering them to herself at night in the privacy of her dark room, staring out the viewport at the stars. Shmi was a _buir_ . Anakin was her _ad_ . Together, they were _aliit_. Those were her favorite words.

When either Shmi or Jango grew restless, bored of sitting, Jango would lead her to the cargo hold. They started slowly: he taught her how to throw a punch, explaining how she should widen her stance to better her balance, how she should bend her knees ever-so-slightly, how she should make her hands into fists to avoid broken fingers and hands--hands that had, until so recently, only ever known work-blisters and sun-cracked skin, and not the split knuckles she gave herself, punching the bag in _Slave I_ ’s cargo hold over and over again as Jango looked on, expression inscrutable. He showed her how to hold the vibroblade, how to smoothly draw her pistols. He showed her how to shoot with both hands and insisted that she practice until she could aim well with both, using practice rounds to avoid shooting holes in the hull.

He never touched her unless she asked, even to correct her posture, preferring to show her himself and have her mimic him. Shmi appreciated it, although it was yet another reminder that he knew how it felt to hold the knowledge that your body was not your own to command.

Some evenings, after dinners that Shmi again made for them both, Jango would sit and tell her stories. They were not like the stories the Amavikka told, meant to save lives, although Shmi did not doubt that Jango’s stories held life-saving lessons, in their own way. Jango spoke of _Manda'yaim_ , and Concord Dawn; he spoke of the endless wars that plagued them, causing suffering both to the _Mando’ade_ and the land itself, scorching _Mada’yaim_ until the only plants that thrived were the stubborn, hearty ones, just like Tatooine’s deserts; he spoke of the _Haat Mando’ade_ , his _vod’e_ , and how they had lived and laughed and loved and fought (though he never spoke about how they died; Shmi already knew, Obi-Wan having told her one night, sitting with her and staring up at Ar-Amu after a long night of teaching her fellow Amavikka to fight, and her heart ached for Jango and all that he had lost).

Other evenings, they went their separate ways; Jango to his own berth, or to the cockpit or the engine room to check on everything, and Shmi to _her room_ , the thought still sending a little thrill down her spine. Those nights, she would sometimes lay in the darkness and think of how much had changed in such a short time, her head almost spinning. Those nights, she felt like she was holding her breath, expecting to wake up and be a slave again, her son in chains beside her, all of this having been nothing more than another dream.

Other nights, she called Anakin, smiling softly and warmly as they told each other everything they had learned. She gave him lessons in Mando’a as she learned it, and he excitedly chattered about his classes in the Temple, or how Master Qui-Gon was healing. But most of all, Anakin spoke of Obi-Wan, and it made her happy, it eased the fears that came from having her son so far away, to know that someone as… _capable_ as Obi-Wan Kenobi was looking out for Ani.

On the best nights, Shmi fell asleep looking at the stars, the comm unit still on but silent as she and Anakin drifted off together, listening to each other’s calm, even breaths.

* * *

For the first month and a half of her time with Jango Fett, Shmi felt as though she was waiting for something, though she was not sure what. But that was fine--she had spent her entire life, until the uprising, as a slave, and a slave’s life was an endless _wait_ . Waiting to break their chains, waiting for the day their _depur_ tired of them and sold them on, waiting to die if they could not break their chains in any other way. Shmi had spent nearly thirty years waiting. She was good at it.

And then one morning Jango stood up after breakfast. “I’m going to the cockpit. There’s a copilot’s chair.” He had raised an eyebrow, and Shmi had smiled at him. He never so much as _invited_ her to do anything, not in so many words, and she thought he feared that she might take it as an order if he did.

She followed him to the fore of the ship, watching carefully as he punched in their coordinates and began to take them to lightspeed.

Shmi wondered where they would go, and it took her a long moment to remember that she could _ask_. “Where are we going?”

“Kamino,” Jango answered, his jaw clenching briefly before he shook his head. “It’s… an ongoing job of mine.” He turned to her, something in his eyes that spoke of regret, and hope, and love at all once. “I trust you. Am I wrong to trust you?”

Shmi pursed her lips. She did not insult him--she did not insult _either_ of them--by giving him an immediate answer. She did not say “of course,” or “why wouldn’t you?” Instead, she thought about the question, turning it over carefully in her mind.

“That depends very much on what you might ask me to do,” Shmi answered instead, and Jango’s lips twitched in a smile, clearly pleased by her answer.

“What you will see on Kamino,” he said slowly, “I need you to keep secret. You must not tell anyone, not even your _ad_.”

Shmi smiled softly. That, at least, she could do. All Amavikka knew how to keep secrets, they learned early and quickly and brutally that some things should never be shared with _depur_. Some learned far more brutally that some things should not even be shared amongst other Amavikka.

“I can do that,” Shmi assured him. “ _Elek_.”

Jango’s lips twitched in another smile, and he nodded sharply. They did not speak as they travelled, this time, and Shmi occupied herself by watching the stars, stretched into thin lines outside the viewport by the distortion of hyperspace, and pondering the question of just how much she and Jango could trust each other.

* * *

Kamino was… breathtaking. As they approached, the planet looked like a swirling blue marble, like one of the little glass beads Shmi had seen in the markets but had never had the spare coin to buy, if she could even have owned them.

“Water,” Shmi whispered, leaning forward in her seat. Jango nodded.

“Kamino is entirely ocean,” he explained, bringing the ship down slowly into the atmosphere, the ship passing through thick, rolling, white and grey clouds. Shmi marvelled at them, wondering what it would feel like to reach out and run a hand through them. She had never seen _clouds_ , before--not any like _this_. The only clouds on Tatooine were made of dust and signalled a savage storm. “We’re lucky it’s clear today. The storms on Kamino can be rough.”

Shmi’s eyes widened further. She had _known_ , in a distant sort of way, that other places that were wetter than Tatooine had storms of their own. But to picture _water_ , falling from the sky, _waves_ rising and breaking and crashing, driven by wind was… It brought a light sheen of tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away--water was too precious to her to waste on crying, and she hadn’t since the pain she’d gone through to bear her _ad_.

As they grew closer to the planet’s surface, Shmi saw that there were settlements, seemingly floating atop the mass of water, all white and clean. Jango brought them down on a landing platform extending from the buildings and killed the engines. Standing, he readied himself to leave the ship. He did not disarm himself, Shmi noted, but he did not look as though he was tensing for a fight. This place was safe enough, she decided, though the weights of her pistols on her hips and the vibroblade in her boot were still a comfort, a reminder that she was now _free_ to defend herself, and learning the skills to do so.

A strange, ethereal being emerged from the white buildings, tall and pale, hairless, with large eyes and a long neck.

“It is good that you have returned,” the strange woman said without preamble as they descended the ship’s ramp and stepped onto the platform. “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming for the decanting.” Jango nodded sharply, but made no reply. The woman was unfazed, and merely turned to Shmi, head swaying, bowing her head, blinking slowly at her. “I am Taun We.”

“I am Shmi,” she said simply, a whisper, an instinct, telling her not to give Skywalker as her name--the same _whisper_ that had prompted her to ask Jango if he would bring her along. She did not bow; she had wondered, for a time, if the Jedi were not the only ones who bowed in greeting, if it might be a normal gesture of respect and salutation. She had decided it did not matter. She was Shmi Skywalker, and she was not a slave. She had broken her chains, and she would never bow to anyone again. Taun We swayed a bit more, and Shmi thought that might be a nod.

“Will you require quarters here?”

“Yes,” Jango answered for her. “The quarters beside mine will do.” He glanced at her in quiet apology, and Shmi only smiled. She knew how he hated to make any of her decisions for her, but she did not mind this time. She was a stranger here, and did not know the lay of the land--such as the “land” was.

“Of course,” Taun We said simply. “They will be ready for you shortly. Would you like to see the unit?”

Jango’s jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly. Shmi wondered what they were talking about, but figured that she would find out soon enough. She could be patient. She was good at waiting.

* * *

The inside of the facility on Kamino was not terribly different to what she’d seen outside. It was white, and so _clean_ . Shmi did not know if she liked it, the absolute lack of dust or _sand_ , or if she found it disconcerting. She and Jango followed Taun We down blank white corridors, occasionally passing more of the same long-necked species, who paused in their walking to sway their heads in what Shmi was now certain was a nod.

Finally, they went through a doorway, and inside this room--still starkly white, and Shmi wondered if perhaps they saw colors differently, or if they simply preferred _white_ above all others--was a dizzying assortment of equipment. There were screens with unfamiliar text characters displayed alongside live graphs, monitoring something, and tubes and wires and--

There, along one wall, was a small tank, and inside of it was a child.

Jango stepped over to the tank, pulling off one of his gloves and reaching out to press his hand against the side of it.

“ _Su’cuy, ner ad’ika_ ,” Jango murmured, and Shmi blinked.

This was Jango’s child. Jango was a _buir_ , or… going to be. She remembered what Taun We had said on the landing platform about a “decanting”--removal from the tank, she realized. Jango’s child was about to be born, somehow motherless.

“Your unit will be ready precisely on time,” Taun We said, sounding pleased and proud, although her expression did not change. “We will decant the unit in ten days.”

Jango nodded, still staring at the child floating in the tank. “Good.”

“We will be inspecting the first batch of one hundred this afternoon,” Taun We continued. “Will you join us?”

“Yes.”

Taun We’s head swayed again. “We will collect you when it is time. Please relax, until then.” Taun We bobbed her head again to Shmi, who simply nodded back, and then the tall being seemed to _glide_ out of the room, leaving them alone.

Shmi watched in silence as Jango continued to simply stare at the child in the tank. She could not deny that he already looked at them like a _buir_ would, and a small smile crossed her face. Jango was surprisingly kind, for someone so gruff and dangerous, and he would be a good protector. He was a good teacher.

He would make a good _buir_.

“ _Tion’gar’ad?_ ” Shmi asked, uncertain if she’d gotten it right, but Jango only nodded. He turned slightly to look at her, nodding again, and Shmi smiled, crossing the room to the tank to look at the child more closely. In the white blue light of the tank, it had been harder to tell what the child actually looked like from a distance. Drawing closer, she saw a few fine, dark hairs on its head, and tan skin that would match Jango’s. She smiled--definitely a boy. “ _Tion’kaysh’gai?_ ”

“Boba,” Jango answered, his voice warm, filled with wonder. “Boba Fett.”

“Boba,” Shmi repeated, and after a beat, she pressed her fingers to her lips and then to her heart. Jango smiled at her softly. “He has no mother?”

“No. He is… the _Kaminiise_ are cloners,” he explained, and Shmi blinked. She had heard of cloning before, of course, but that had only been for direct medical purposes, such as replacing damaged organs--not that any such care had ever been available to the Amavikka. It cost far too much, and the Amavikka were not valuable enough for it; it was cheaper to buy a new slave and put the injured out of their misery.

But she had never heard of anyone cloning full sentients before. This was… novel.

“He is yours alone,” Shmi said, smiling softly. “Just as my Ani is mine alone.” Jango gave her a strange look, and she realized he must not know. “There was no father. I cannot explain it as you can explain your _ad_ , but… I am his only _buir_. There was no father.”

Jango nodded, a curious gleam in his eyes, and they both turned back to the tank. Jango raised his bare hand to touch the glass again, and the boy stirred, kicking slightly. Shmi smiled softly and slowly, almost tentatively, put a hand on his shoulder. Jango tensed for the briefest of seconds, and Shmi almost drew her hand back, until Jango’s other hand crossed his body to rest lightly against her fingers.

* * *

Shmi had realized, with Jango telling her that the _Kaminiise_ were cloners, and from her introduction to Boba, that the other “units” and “batch” would be more _ade_ . She wondered what they were for. Not _all_ of them were to be Jango’s children--at least, she didn’t think so. How could one man alone raise so many? Even slave-mothers, who were mother to every slave who had none, did not raise a _hundred_ children all at once. Perhaps they were meant for families on Mandalore; Jango had told her in quiet, pained, soft words how war had torn his people apart, killed far too many of their _ade_. But she did not ask--that same whisper-pull in her stomach, the ever-present instinct that had kept her alive all these years, told her now was not the time.

Jango and Shmi stayed with Boba until Taun We came for them. Taun We dominated the conversation as they walked through the endless labyrinth of identical white hallways, relating growth statistics, nutrient balances, genetic splicing, and other information that meant little to Shmi, unfamiliar with the cloning process as she was. Jango seemed to be nodding along, though; either he understood more or did not care about the information, and thus did not bother to clarify. Shmi could not tell which it was.

Finally, going through another of those archways with simple frosted glass doors, they reached another room, far larger than Boba’s, but filled with the same tanks, wires, and glowing terminals. Several more of the _Kaminiise_ were in the room, some at the terminals, and others looking over the children in the tanks. At the bottom of each tank was a serial number--Shmi got a glance as she looked around of Alpha-16, Alpha-17, and Alpha-18, though some others said Null-9, Null-10, and Null-11, though she did not know what the distinction was. Shmi wondered if they were waiting for _buir_ to claim them before they were given names, but the thought felt… wrong.

Something about _all_ of this felt _wrong_.

“They will be decanted on the same day your unit is,” Taun We said. That same satisfied pride in her voice that had warmed Shmi when she was speaking of Boba now made her feel cold. “They have our accelerated aging program, of course, unlike your unit; inside of a year, they will reach the equivalent of three years’ of growth. At that time, training will begin, with the learning modules first, as discussed.” Taun We looked at Shmi, blinking slowly, head swaying. “After another year, the instructors you select will begin working with the units. They will be fully matured and ready to meet the order within the ten-year timeframe, of course.

“In six months, if an acceptable percentage meet standards, we will begin the next, larger batch.”

“How many?” Shmi asked, thankful that her voice came out even. She realized that her hands were shaking.

“Five thousand, for the next batch,” Taun We answered simply. “It is better to be conservative, to ensure a quality product, but we must increase batch production quickly, to meet the full order.”

“And how many… units is the full order for?” Shmi asked. Taun We blinked slowly.

“One-point-two-million units.”

Over _one million_ **_people_ ** . Shmi’s mind reeled, but outwardly, she only nodded, and Taun We bobbed her head again. One million people, one million people, she chanted internally. _One_ **_million people_ **.

“Decant--” Jango paused, a brief flicker of _distaste_ on his face at the word before he smoothed his expression quickly. “Decant Boba after… this batch. I want to be present for both.”

“Of course,” Taun We agreed easily. “I will show you to your rooms, now.”

* * *

Shmi knew that she should pay attention to the route to the room they were giving her, but even if she could have differentiated the blank, barren hallways, even if she could have remembered all of the twists and turns they took, she was too preoccupied by what she’d learned.

 _Over_ **_one million people_ ** . These _Kaminiise_ , these cloners, were _creating_ over a million _people_ , and for what purpose, Shmi did not know, only that it did not sound good. It did not seem _right_.

Taun We stopped in a corridor with several doors, gesturing to two sets of rooms. “Here you are. If there is anything to be done to make them more to your liking, please inform us.”

“Thank you,” Jango said stiffly, and Shmi simply nodded, still unable to speak. If she did, she feared she would scream, and she knew when to keep her silence.

Jango seemed to know whose room was whose, and he gestured to one of the doors, nodding his head at her. She nodded back, slowly, and pressed the control beside the door.

The rooms were stark white, just like the rest of the place, but with accents of grey and blue, at least, to dull the overbearing blankness. There was a living room with a low, long couch, and a small but serviceable kitchen. Shmi suspected there was at least one bedroom down the hall, and a ‘fresher. The walls were a bit strange, curving the way that they did. The far wall was taken up by massive windows, overlooking the calmly flowing ocean beneath them.

Shmi sank down onto the couch and put her face into her hands. _Over one million_ **_people_ **.

She did not know how long she sat like that before the door chimed. “Come in,” she called, again grateful that her voice was steadier than her thoughts, or her still-shaking hands. She pulled them away from her face, clasping them together to hide her trembling, laying them in her lap.

Jango came through the door, and Shmi barely waited until it had closed behind him to speak.

“I need an explanation,” she demanded. “You must tell me what’s going on here--”

Jango scowled. “ _Must_ I?”

“Yes,” Shmi said flatly, glaring at him. “ _You_ brought me here. I will not break my promise, I will not speak to anyone else of what I have seen here today, but you _must tell me_ what this is.”

Jango sighed roughly and leaned up against one of the straighter walls, folding his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t order them,” he said flatly. “The clones. Well, except for Boba. I was… approached, by someone, not long ago. The _Kaminiise_ had taken an order, and they needed a… template.”

“For what purpose?” Shmi demanded. “What are they going to do with them?”

Jango hesitated. “The order is for the Republic. It’s… an army.”

Shmi felt nothing, at first, at that declaration. She was no longer shaking, she realized dimly, and she felt… cold. Prickly.

But that soon gave way to the _fire_ that the uprising had brought forth in her, and she sucked in a breath, standing, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.

“You are allowing yourself to be _cloned_ , and all of these _precious children_ , **_gar_ ** _ade,_ to be bred to be nothing more than an _army_ ? With no _choice_ , no _freedom_ of their own?” she spat. “What are you _thinking_ ? They will be--” Shmi paused, too _furious_ to speak for a moment, but Jango merely waited her out, unmoving, expression blank and unchanging. “They will be _slaves_ , Jango Fett. You are creating your children only to bind them in _chains_ . How can you be _depur_ ? How can you _do this_?”

The accusations fell between them. The air around them felt charged, electric. Shmi was trembling again, but from anger, now, and not from shock.

“There is more to the situation than you realize, Shmi,” Jango said softly. “I was not the only one they approached, to be their ‘template.’ The other was… Montross, the _hu’tuunla_ ** _dar’manda_** who betrayed Jaster and got him killed. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen. The kind of man that he is, he would have… To have millions of copies of _him_ in the galaxy would be…” Jango growled and shook his head. “I made a mistake, that day, when I exiled him. I should have cut him down.” He sighed roughly, shaking his head again, eyes cast down to stare at the floor, unseeing. “If not me, Shmi, they would have asked someone else. If not Montross, either, they would have found another. This _would_ happen--I can’t _stop it_. But… I will do what I can for them. I will make sure that they are raised _Mando_ , and I will give them what lives I can. But I couldn’t stop this from happening.”

Shmi stared at him for a long moment. She did not… She did not know if she could accept his reasoning. She did not know if she could learn to get past this.

But Shmi realized that she had never been in his situation. She had seen many of the Amavikka fall during the uprising on Tatooine, of course, but so many of them had _lived_ . She wondered what it would be like to have lost them _all_ , to carry the heavy knowledge that she was the last of them. She wondered what she might do to ensure that their stories and culture lived on.

She wondered what choice _she_ would have made, if she had known that an army of _over one million people_ was going to be _created_ , brought forth from _nothing_ , in her image--and if not hers, then someone else’s.

But she would never _be_ in that situation. She would never face the choices Jango had, and she would never truly know his hurts. For now, that was enough to quiet some of the fire that still raged and thrummed somewhere beneath her skin, under the surface.

“You are a good man, Jango Fett,” she told him quietly. “But you have become so very _lost_ , I think. When did you become the kind of man that looks upon showing _mercy_ as a mistake? When did you become the sort of man who _helps_ **_depur_ **, whether their plans would succeed without you or not?” Jango flinched, and Shmi sighed. “But what is done is done. I am glad you brought me here.”

Jango looked up at her, frowning. “You are?”

Shmi nodded. “Yes. I left Tatooine to learn how to break my people’s chains, wherever they may be, wherever they may come from. It seems to me that these _ade_ need my help.”

* * *

The facility on Kamino, Jango showed her, had many practice rooms. Shooting ranges, _bomb_ ranges (and Jango had had to lead them very quickly away from that one, when he’d seen Shmi’s light up, her smile growing a bit _too_ wide and toothy for comfort), and several larger areas with mats on the floor and staffs and dulled vibroblades hanging on the walls. It was that last room that they stopped in, and Shmi looked over the weapons before choosing a staff.

It was metal, and it was heavy, but well-balanced. Shmi instinctively placed her hands apart on the staff, and she smiled, enjoying the weight of it in her hands. Jango nodded in approval and picked up his own staff.

Slowly, he demonstrated, move by move, how to use it. Shmi liked the idea of being able to whirl in a circle, keeping it extended, and keeping others at bay as she did so. She liked the way the staff felt as she swung--left, right, left, right, up, and then straight down, and then up, and then down to the left, and then up, and then down to the right. Jango kept an eye on her, nodding every now and then.

Shmi was well aware that they were being watched. She had had her entire life to become accustomed to the feeling of eyes on her. Slaves were always watched--by their masters, by other slaves’ masters, by other slaves. She was not surprised when one of the _Kaminiise_ entered, a man this time, and stood patiently at the edge of the mats for them to finish.

Shmi was covered in a light sheen of sweat, her arms tired, and she wondered how long they had been at it. Still, the physical activity had felt _good_ , and it had done wonders to soothe the _rage_ that had been burning, bringing it back down to a slow-simmering _anger_.

“Greetings,” the _Kaminii_ said, waving his head back and forth on that long neck, and Shmi nodded back. “I am Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino.”

“I am Shmi,” she introduced herself, again giving no surname. Lama Su waved his head again, looking to Jango.

“We did not realize you would be bringing instructors to us so soon,” Lama Su said, a hint of a question in his voice. Jango glanced at Shmi and then nodded, turning back to Lama Su.

“Yes.”

“Forgive me if I offend, as I do not seek to, but if you are instructing her in fighting techniques, what will she instruct the units in?” he asked, swaying his head back and forth slightly on his long neck.

“Shmi is a cultural advisor,” Jango said, and Shmi fought to keep her face from showing her surprise.

“A cultural advisor?” Lama Su asked, blinking at them. “Is there something lacking in the cultural packets we designed?”

“Yes,” Jango growled. “We’ve been over this. _Learning_ about other cultures isn’t enough. They need a culture of their _own_ , otherwise they won’t be whole, or healthy. I know you can’t understand a _human_ perspective, but believe me when I tell you that if you want an army of functional soldiers who _are_ superior to droids, you must allow us to control this part of their… education.”

“I see,” Lama Su said slowly. “In that case, Lady Shmi, allow me to welcome you to Kamino.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Shmi said, nodding again. Lama Su blinked at her again and then hummed.

“Will you be staying with us for long?” Lama Su asked.

“Yes,” Jango answered for them both. “You told me it’s imperative that I not take Boba away from Kamino for at least the first six months. And it will be a vital stage of the… other units’ development. We’ll be here.”

“Excellent,” Lama Su said. “I will inform Sanma Vo; she will be your liason. Anything you may require during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask her.”

“Thank you,” Shmi said again. Lama Su bobbed his head.

With that, he turned and left again, and Shmi turned to Jango. He shook his head minutely, a clear message of _not here_. She pursed her lips and nodded.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Jango said. “It’s nearly time for dinner.”

* * *

Their routine over the next tenday changed, though not much from what it had been when they were still on the ship. Their mornings were filled with study, Jango continuing to instruct Shmi in Basic and Mando’a, and he had had the _Kaminiise_ give her access to the training modules for the children (not clones, not units--Shmi refused to think of them as anything less than what they _were_ ) which included _everything_ she could possibly want to learn. History, mechanics, geography, geology, physics, a hundred other subjects, and a mind-boggling _four hundred_ languages were available to her now. Jango kindly suggested that she take the placement tests after he realized how overwhelmed she was, and they had settled on modules for mechanics, history, and mathematics, along with Basic and Mando’a.

After lunch, they trained. Jango did not allow Shmi to stop practicing with her pistols, and even the larger blasters, sometimes, although they spent the most time with the staffs, since they were Shmi’s new-found favorite. When she was thoroughly exhausted, they showered, and then went to check on the children.

Shmi took her time, in that blank room, filled by so many tiny lives. She went from tank to tank, giving a few minutes to each child, murmuring softly to them in a jumble of Basic, Mando’a, and Amatakkan. In whispers, so quiet that the _Kaminiise_ and their cameras could not hear, Shmi told them the stories of her people, and vowed that, one day, they would be free, they would break their chains just as she had, and she would see it done, or die trying. It was a heavier thing, now, to promise her life to another, and to so _many_ . Now that she _had_ a life of her own, an oath pledging her life to them _meant_ something.

And Shmi meant every whispered promise, to each and every one of them.

At night, Shmi laid awake often for long hours before sleep found her. Her heart ached, for these children bred to die, and for herself, and the son she had had to give up. She wanted so badly to speak to Anakin, but Jango had told her she could not comm, not from Kamino. Once the children were born, he promised her, he would allow her to take _Slave I_ a short distance away from the planet, closer to one of the hyperlanes, and make her calls there.

“You do not wish them to track you,” Shmi realized. “To track _us_.”

“No,” he had answered shortly.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “If this army was ordered by the Republic, surely the Order could help us to free them, and put a stop to all of this?”

“Shmi…” Jango sighed roughly, shaking his head. “I don’t think the Order at large knows about it, but it _was_ a Jedi who helped place the order with the _Kaminiise_.”

Shmi’s thoughts had ground to a screeching halt. “ _What_?”

“A Master, a man called Sifo-Dyas, approached them. Unofficially, I heard that he… sees the future. He had a vision of a war that would topple the Republic, and contacted the Senate. But it had to be done _quietly_ , because the Republic--officially, anyway--has no army, and no right to create one. The last military force they had was disbanded at the end of the last galactic war almost a thousand years ago.”

“I see,” Shmi said, voice rough. The _Jetii_ had sanctioned this? Even if it was only _one_ Jedi… She felt that _rage_ beginning to rise again when another thought came to her: Obi-Wan Kenobi had been _one Jedi_ , and he had freed thousands of her people. Slowly, she exhaled, allowing the anger to leave with her breath from her body.

The Order was not at fault, not unless there was proof otherwise. There could be good and bad people in every institution, and she…

Shmi couldn’t even consider the idea that she’d given her son over to those who were _depur_.

* * *

Finally, the day came for the decanting. Immediately after breakfast, she and Jango were met by Taun We and led back to the room where the children were kept in their tanks.

“We will need to sanitize for this,” she hummed. “A sterile environment brings the best chance of a healthy unit.”

Shmi had pursed her lips, thinking of Anakin: she had given birth while still Gardulla’s _slave_ , and she had made it through lying on a dirty floor, only a blanket separating her from the cold stone slabs, a fellow slave-mother on either side, holding her hands as she screamed through the pain. Anakin had been perfectly healthy, and the environment had been far from _sterile_.

Instead of protesting, she merely nodded, allowing Taun We to guide them into a chamber that blasted them with something cold and sharp-smelling before providing them both with clean scrubs. Finally, they were allowed inside, and it began.

Decanting was… nothing like birth. This was calm, detached, clinical. No one was screaming, and there were no tears of pain, or of joy. A clear, shallow tray was set before each tube, and one by one, the fluids were drained, and the tubes tipped to deposit the children into the trays.

Finally, at last, the cries began; most of the children had not cried, still soundly asleep (almost unmoving, and Shmi had felt a startled burst of _panic_ until she looked carefully and saw that they were all still breathing). But the one they had labelled as Alpha-17 was awake, and he was _wailing_ , and the _Kaminiise_ made no move to comfort him, instead moving on to Alpha-18 beside him.

But Shmi was a slave-mother. She was mother to those who had none, whoever they may be, and she quickly strode forward to the crying boy.

“Please stand back--”

“I need a wet cloth, please,” Shmi cut off the _Kaminii_ who’d spoken. They blinked at her, head swaying faster than she’d seen before--annoyance, she guessed. “He’s awake, and he’s upset. Children this young need to be comforted when they cry, whenever possible.” She looked up from the little boy to fix a glare on the man. “Or do you _not_ want an army of confident and capable soldiers? I can assure you that they will _not_ be if they do not get proper care at such an important stage.”

There was perfect, tense stillness in the room, the silence broken only by the loud cries of the child, and then the _Kaminii_ ’s head swaying slowed, and he turned around to get her the cloth she’d requested.

“Thank you,” Shmi said, perfectly polite again. Turning back to the little boy, she began to coo gently at him as she slowly wiped the remains of the tank fluid from his tiny body. “And a clean cloth, please.”

It was handed to her without argument, this time, and Shmi swaddled him with care and the efficiency of practice before bringing him close to her chest, looking down at him. He blinked at her, dark eyes large on his chubby little tan face, and Shmi smiled at him gently.

“It’s alright, little one,” she murmured, swaying them both gently. “ _Udesii, ad’ika, udesii_.”

Slowly, the child’s cries began to subside, and his eyes drifted closed. Only then did Shmi place him into the tray--thankfully, she could feel that it was at least heated a bit, keeping them warm until they would be covered in blankets. She strode back over to Jango to continue watching, ready to help the next child who cried. Beside him, she could feel his eyes on her, and she glanced at him, smiling back as she saw the tiny grin on his face, the pride in his eyes.

In that moment, Shmi thought he looked like a proud father.

She decided then that however this had come to be, whatever Jango and that Jedi, Sifo-Dyas, had done, whatever the Republic’s Senate had allowed to happen, these were _their_ children now-- _**cuun**_ _ade._

Jango would find his redemption, and Shmi’s soul would rest easier when they freed them together. She would see it done.


	6. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU!!! Happy Star Wars Day, part 2!
> 
> For anyone who may not have seen, I double posted today. Just a heads up so you don't miss the previous chapter. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Anakin turned eleven, it didn’t bother him that he wasn’t immediately chosen as a Padawan, even though Sian was chosen on her eleventh birthday just a week after Anakin himself turned eleven. He knew that, in a lot of ways, he was still behind, although he was catching up quick--all his instructors said so, and Master Qui-Gon  _ and _ Obi-Wan agreed with them, so he must be doing well. And Obi-Wan had told him before: there was nothing he could do to ensure he was Chosen. All he could do was learn.

Losing one of the few good friends he’d made in the creche had left him a little… lonelier than before Sian had been Chosen. With Master Qui-Gon cleared for field work again, and both him and Obi-Wan off on missions more than they were on Coruscant (sometimes it even seemed like Obi-Wan was  _ avoiding _ the Temple, when Master Qui-Gon came back without him, saying that Obi-Wan had been called away to attend to something else before returning. Anakin loved teasing him about it; he knew how much Obi-Wan hated attention, and the reputation he was building with his missions, dangerous but wildly successful, for the most part, had only served to worsen the hero-worship that had begun after he killed the Sith on Naboo), and the fact that Anakin’s other friends were already Padawans, like Asajj, and wherever his mom was, she couldn’t call very much anymore, maybe a few times a month…

Anakin was  _ lonely _ . And he had too much time on his hands.

But all he could do was learn, Obi-Wan had said. So Anakin threw himself into his classes, spending his spare time in the Archives (and he  _ did _ try to be quiet, he really did, but he just… had a habit of talking to himself out loud when he read,  _ sorry _ , Master Nu, and sometimes he got hungry and smuggled in a little bit of food, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to eat in the Archives) or in the salles.

He  _ would  _ be ready to become a Padawan soon, Anakin promised himself. If he could just get through this paper on the Alsakan Revolution of 324, if he could just finish writing his essay on that forty-page mission summary report on the Order’s involvement in the Stark Hyperspace War, if he could just master the last  _ flip _ in that Ataru kata they’d been assigned, he would know what he needed to know to become a Padawan. He’d have learned  _ enough _ , and he would be Chosen.

* * *

When Anakin turned twelve, the rest of his Clan-mates who were eligible having already been Chosen (except for Gorkiyo, a Duros who knew already that he was  _ meant _ for the EduCorps and  _ relieved _ that no Master had asked, who was actually counting down the days until he turned thirteen with  _ excitement _ ), Anakin started to worry.

He  _ tried _ to be happy, seeing Sian and Asajj  _ at the same time _ \--that never happened, not since Sian had started going on missions with her Master. Simple missions, mostly diplomatic in nature, and close to the Core, but still. Real  _ missions _ . Anakin tried to let the little flicker of  _ resentment _ go, tried to give it to the Force, but it stubbornly clung on. He sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Sian asked, tilting her head to the side. Asajj was leaning up against the wall in the study room they’d claimed, mostly to make sure that their time together wouldn’t be interrupted, since they got so little of it.

“What d’ya mean?” Anakin asked. He knew he’d overdone the innocence when Asajj snorted, folding her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been acting like someone shot your pet tooka and then ran it over with a speeder, Skywalker,” Asajj said, raising an eyebrow at him, absently reaching up to flick the silka beads she still wore in place of a Padawan braid; her Master had added to the beads that Anakin had initially given her, with beads of different colors and shapes to signify the Trials she’d already gone through. “What are you sulking about?”

Anakin sighed roughly and leaned forward, letting his forehead hit the table lightly. “It’s just… I only have seven months left, now.”

“You’re worried about getting Chosen?” Sian asked, and Anakin murmured an “uh-huh,” muffled by the fact that he was still face-down on the table. “Look, Ani, I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re so  _ strong _ in the Force, there are bound to be loads of Masters who want to take you on!”

“Then why haven’t they  _ asked _ ?” Anakin asked, picking his head up. He shifted his weight and bit his lip. “And anyway, it’s not just that. I think… I’m just really, really hoping for someone  _ specific  _ to ask, and he… hasn’t. He hasn’t given me any sign that he even  _ wants _ to, or that he’s even thought about it.”

Sian and Asajj exchanged  _ looks _ , and Sian pursed her lips. Asajj shrugged, and Sian sighed roughly.

“Are you talking about Master Jinn?” she asked gently, and Anakin shook his head.

“He’s already told me that he can’t take me,” Anakin said. “He said he’s too old, now, and he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that he would be able to see me to Knighthood.”

“Ah,” Asajj said, smirking. “Kenobi, then.” Anakin nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to fight back the tears that came whenever he thought too hard about all of this.

“Anakin… It’s  _ every _ Initiate’s dream to be Knight Kenobi’s Padawan,” Sian said. “Everybody is asking when he’s going to take a Padawan--he’s been Knighted for almost three years now, after all, and everyone thinks it’s about time, even if he’s still pretty young. But… you know what?”

“What?” Anakin muttered, still completely miserable.

Sian smiled at him softly. “I think you have the best chance of any of the Initiates. It’s obvious how much he cares about you.”

Anakin tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was, feeling his chin wobble as he tried not to cry. “Then why hasn’t he  _ asked _ me?”

“Have you actually talked to him about this?” Asajj asked bluntly. “You said he’s never even mentioned it. He may not even realize you  _ want _ to be his Padawan.”

“Well, he  _ did _ mention it. Sort of, a while ago,” Anakin said, staring down at the table. “When he explained everything about the Order and the Temple to me on Naboo, before we came back here, he seemed to go out of his way to make sure I knew about the Corps, and got me thinking about the ExploraCorps and everything I might do if I went… if I  _ go _ there. So I don’t… I don’t think he  _ wants  _ me as his Padawan.”

“That was  _ years _ ago, Ani,” Sian sighed. “And he was just a Padawan himself, then--a Padawan whose Master was hurt really badly, and he probably already knew he was going to have to take care of Master Jinn for a while. Of  _ course _ he wasn’t thinking about taking a Padawan!”

“Oh,” Anakin said, blinking. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Seriously, kid,” Asajj said, rolling her eyes and scowling, “just talk to him. I know we’re all  _ technically  _ capable of reading minds, but I highly doubt he knows what you’re thinking.” Anakin snorted despite himself--Asajj tended to have that effect. Gruff as she was, she still somehow made her friends smile.

“You’re right,” Anakin sighed. “Okay. Next time he’s back in the Temple, I’ll talk to him about it.”

* * *

Anakin spent the next three weeks working  _ hard _ . He barely managed to drag himself into his bed every night, boneless from exhaustion after hours of ‘saber practice and staring at datapads of coursework until the words blurred together.

But Obi-Wan was coming back to the Temple soon, and Anakin needed everything to be  _ perfect _ to convince him to be his Master. He needed to do what Obi-Wan had told him, and learn as much as he possibly could, to show how good a Padawan he’d make.

Finally, Anakin woke up and  _ knew _ that today was the day. He could feel it in his bones, the Force whispering around him, and he smiled nervously to himself. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, slow and deep. He released the anxiety into the Force.

Nodding to himself, thinking about how proud Obi-Wan was going to be of how good he’d gotten at controlling his emotions lately (well, for the most part--he just still go so  _ frustrated _ sometimes with his classes sometimes, because, seriously,  _ why _ was  _ poetry  _ a required class?), Anakin jumped out of bed, pausing to make it neatly and pull on his boots before running out of the dorm.

“Master Tyyyvak! Master!” he called, and the Wookie howled back, allowing Anakin to find her in the main room, surrounded by the younger crechelings playing around her. Wordlessly, she held out a child to him, and Anakin accepted the little orange-skinned Togruta girl, her montrals still stubby little nubs. She blinked calmly up at him with wide eyes, giving him a smile that was mostly gummy, but already he could see the razor-sharp teeth poking through, and held out one tiny, pudgy hand, reaching for his tunics. Anakin snorted. He didn’t exactly  _ like _ the babies, but he’d learned that it was every Jedi’s duty to help the new generations, just like all slave-mothers were mothers to every slave child. And as he got better with his shields, they didn’t seem so  _ loud _ to him in the Force anymore.

Anakin bounced the girl lightly as he grinned up at Master Tyyyvak. “Um, Master? Can I be excused from dinner tonight?”

“One of your ‘family dinners?’” she asked, sounding amused. She knelt down to help a youngling who’d tripped get to their feet again, pushing them off gently to continue tottering around in circles. Not for the first time, Anakin wondered how she did this all day. She must  _ really _ like babies.

“Uh-huh! Master Qui-Gon and Knight Obi are getting back today,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“Yes, Ani,” Master Tyyyvak agreed. “As long as you’re back before bedtime.”

“Sure, Master. Um, here?” Hopefully, he held out the little girl as she wrinkled her nose and frowned at him for being jostled. Master Tyyyvak chuckled, a familiar, throaty sound that made Anakin smile, and took the child back from him. “Thanks, Master! Bye, I’ll see you later!”

As he ran off, he pretended not to hear her call after him, “ _ Anakin  _ **_Skywalker_ ** _! Stop running in the Temple! _ ”

* * *

Anakin was right, and it was so hard to concentrate on Master Drallig’s ‘saber lesson when he could  _ feel _ Obi-Wan just outside the room, watching through the glass. He tried to let it go, knowing that he  _ had _ to do well, he  _ had _ to show Obi-Wan what he could do, now that he had the opportunity. Finding his focus again now that he had proper motivation, Anakin earned himself a smile and a clap on the shoulder from Master Drallig as he completed the kata they’d been assigned. Anakin grinned back, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“That was very well done, Ani.”

Anakin turned to look at Obi-Wan who’d just come into the room. Anakin looked him over carefully for a brief moment--no obvious bandages, and he was standing on his own two feet, not even swaying from exhaustion like he had been after the last mission he and Master Qui-Gon had taken together. Once he was assured that Obi-Wan was fine, or at least  _ relatively _ fine, Anakin launched himself at the Knight, who only chuckled and bent down to hug him back.

“Hi, Obi! It’s been  _ so long _ ! How was your mission? Did you go anywhere really cool? Did you fight any pirates?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“Slow down, Ani,” he said, drawing back from the hug, but keeping one hand on each of Anakin’s shoulders as he smiled down at him. “Our mission went well; I would say, since we were on Hoth for a while, that it  _ was _ ‘really cool’; no, we did not fight any pirates, this time. Only a few wild animals.”

Anakin groaned at Obi-Wan’s bad pun, and Obi-Wan laughed and ruffled his hair, straightening back up and letting go of Anakin.

“Now, if you’d like to shower first, we do have a bit of time before dinner,” he said.

“Okay!” Anakin agreed eagerly, nodding enthusiastically. He quickly grabbed the change of robes he’d brought, since he’d known he would need them, and padded off to the showers. He paused as he heard Master Drallig start talking to Obi-Wan. He  _ knew _ it wasn’t polite to listen in, but… Anakin listened more attentively, and grinned triumphantly. They  _ were _ talking about him, and it wasn’t nice to talk about people behind their backs, so that made up for his eavesdropping, he decided.

“He’s a bright student,” Master Drallig was saying, and Anakin’s smile grew even wider at the praise. “He’s a natural swordsman, too.”

“He does seem to be picking it up quickly,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“If I might ask, Knight Kenobi--why haven’t you Claimed him yet?” Anakin’s eyes widened. Master Drallig thought Obi-Wan should be his Master too?

“Oh, not you too,” Obi-Wan groaned. “Master Koon is already hounding me about it.”

“You don’t have that much time left,” Master Drallig said. “Other Masters have stayed away out of respect for your obvious connection with him, but they won’t risk him going to the Corps.”

Anakin’s jaw fell open, his eyes wide. Well,  _ that _ explained a lot. Sian was right, other Masters  _ did _ want him, but they all thought Obi-Wan should be his Master just like he did!

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Obi-Wan said, perfectly neutral, and Anakin frowned. He  _ hated _ it when Obi-Wan danced around giving any actual answers to people’s questions. Obi-Wan never  _ lied _ , but he didn’t always tell the truth, and this kind of evasion was too much like a lie for Anakin’s comfort.

Deciding that he didn’t want to hear the rest of the conversation, he showered quickly and then struggled into his tunics. Unlike most Initiates, Anakin had asked for the full traditional set, with the undershirt, two layers of tunics, tabards, and obi. It was what  _ Obi-Wan  _ preferred, after all, and Anakin wanted to show him how well he could follow tradition, despite his rather non-traditional background.

“I’m ready!” he called, his face still pink from the shower, short hair sticking straight up, except for the still-unbraided strand that was tucked behind his right ear. Obi-Wan smiled at him, and Anakin noted that Master Drallig was gone.

Anakin stopped himself from reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand. He  _ knew  _ what the Code said about attachments, and even Master Tyyyvak thought that he was getting a little bit too old for such things, but as always, Obi-Wan just grabbed his hand when Anakin didn’t reach for him, and he felt a warmth blossom in his chest.

“What have you been up to, since we’ve been away?” Obi-Wan asked. He knew most of what Anakin did--he made sure to comm at least twice a week, when he was out in the field, but to hear it from Anakin in person was different, and he always asked again when he got back.

“I got my poetry results back today,” Anakin said. “I aced the paper!”

“That’s wonderful, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin beamed at the tendril of  _ pride _ he felt from Obi-Wan. He’d spent an hour going over that Alderaani poem with Anakin over the comm, when he and Master Qui-Gon had had a little downtime on their last mission. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks for your help, Obi,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan squeezed his hand in response. “And I did really well on my Pre-Reformation History exam!”

“Well, between that and what I saw of your ‘saber skills, you must have spent a lot of your time studying, hmm?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, I have been. It’s helped, even if it’s so  _ boring _ a lot of the time.” Obi-Wan chuckled and sent a small pulse of affection towards him, and Anakin grinned.

* * *

Their “family dinner” was wonderful, as always. With Master Yan there, chiding Master Qui-Gon for his lack of self-care, and Obi-Wan for his recklessness--which, Obi-Wan had explained to him a long time ago, before he knew the man very well, was one of Master Yan’s strange ways of showing that he cared about them--everything felt so warm and happy and Light.

Still, Anakin could feel the anxiety he had managed to release earlier returning with a vengeance. He squirmed and pushed his food around on his plate more than eating, finding his nerves made him lose his appetite.

Finally, dinner was over, and Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan went to the living room to drink that awful-smelling brandy they both liked so much, and Anakin realized Obi-Wan was frowning at him, looking concerned.

“Are you alright, Ani?” he asked gently, and Anakin nodded, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I just… can we… talk?” he asked, and Obi-Wan smiled softly.

“Of course,” he said. “Come on.” Anakin followed him down the hall to Obi-Wan’s room. He’d been in here a few times before, when Obi-Wan had different little souveniers from his missions that he wanted to give to Anakin after dinners just like this one. Obi-Wan gestured at the bed--and Anakin had asked about that, why Obi-Wan had a hard, plank-like cot when he had a cushy bed, down in the creche, and he’d been relieved to hear that it was just Obi-Wan’s choice, not a requirement for all Padawans. Obi-Wan was a little weird like that--sometimes he even craved  _ ration bars _ .

Obi-Wan sank down next to him, just close enough to let their shoulders brush together, and Anakin sighed.

“What’s bothering you,  _ vod’ika _ ?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin’s eyes watered slightly, and he sniffled before he could help himself.

“I… why don’t you want me?” he asked, his voice cracking as he tried not to burst into tears. It was not at all what he’d planned to say, the well-rehearsed argument he’d gone over and over in his mind about how good a Padawan he would make, and he regretted it as Obi-Wan stiffened beside him.

“...what do you mean, Ani?”

“I just… I thought I was going crazy,” Anakin said, staring down at the floor. He couldn’t bear to look at Obi-Wan, too afraid that he would see distance and rejection. “I’ve thought for a long time that… well, I’ve been getting worried that I’m not going to be a Padawan. And I know what you said about the ExploraCorps, and I think I  _ would _ be happy there, but it’s not… I’m  _ supposed _ to be a Padawan. I just  _ know _ I am! But… but I also think that I’m supposed to be  _ your _ Padawan. And I guess some of the Masters think so, too, but you… you haven’t  _ asked _ . I just… why, Obi-Wan? Why don’t you want me?”

Anakin couldn’t stop the flow of tears, then, and he covered his face with his hands, sobs wracking his body. Only a moment later, he felt Obi-Wan’s arms wrap around him tightly, and the Knight pulled him into his lap, holding him to his chest firmly.

“Oh, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I am so sorry, dear one. It’s alright now.  _ Udesii, vod’ika. _ It’s going to be okay.” He kept up a constant stream of reassurance, in Basic and Mando’a, as he rhythmically stroked one hand over Anakin’s back until his tears finally began to ebb.

“‘M sorry,” Anakin sniffled, leaning back to swipe at his nose with his sleeve.

“It’s alright, dear one,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Ani, I…” He paused, shifting them so that Anakin could face Obi-Wan, and he peered down at the boy with a serious expression. “I can’t tell you everything, as much as I want there to be no secrets between us. The choice was not mine to make, however.” Obi-Wan paused, taking a deep breath. “But… I think there is something you need to know, but you must promise me that you will not tell anyone else. Not Sian, not Asajj, and not even Master Qui-Gon. Alright?”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed, frowning.

“I had a vision, of sorts,” Obi-Wan began slowly.

“The vision the Council said you’re not supposed to talk about?” Anakin clarified, knowing that Obi-Wan had lots of visions, but there was on only one that was kept so secret. Obi-Wan nodded.

“I lived an entire life, in that vision,” he said. “I raised a Padawan, and…” Obi-Wan stopped, his eyes distant, unfixed, clouded over with a sheen of tears, and Anakin felt  _ grief _ , the familiar, heavy weight that Obi-Wan had carried since Naboo--since the vision, Anakin guessed--that none of them knew how to help him with, since he couldn’t  _ talk about it _ . Anakin felt a twinge of resentment towards the Council, but breathed it out, giving it to the Force quickly. Now wasn’t the time; he needed to focus on Obi-Wan.

“Did he die?” Anakin asked softly. “Your Padawan, in the vision, I mean.”

Obi-Wan nodded, the tears beginning to fall, although his expression remained fixed. “I… I failed him twice. I  _ failed _ , and he… he became a Sith Lord.” Anakin gasped, tightening his hold on Obi-Wan; the Knight clutched at him just as desperately, closing his eyes, although the tears still leaked out. “I failed him again when I… I couldn’t bring him back to the Light. We fought--I had to raise my ‘saber against my  _ own Padawan _ .” A choked sob escaped Obi-Wan’s throat. “I failed him. I  _ failed _ , and I… I left him there.”

He didn’t  _ say _ that he’d watched himself kill his own Padawan, but Anakin shivered as he realized that was probably what he’d meant.

Obi-Wan drew back again slightly, taking a few steadying breaths, and Anakin tried to radiate as much peace and calm as he could, trying to ignore how  _ sad _ he was for Obi-Wan, because of how hurt he seemed by the vision, not wanting Obi-Wan to feel any of that right now.

“I’m so sorry, Ani,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I’m doing the same thing to you all over again, aren’t I?” Anakin frowned, and Obi-Wan must have sensed his confusion, because he sighed, but continued: “Master Qui-Gon didn’t want to take me as his Padawan, initially--not because of  _ me _ , but because his last Padawan had failed his Trials, left the Order, and he… he Fell. Qui-Gon thought that that spoke to some… failing of his, as a Master, and decided it was best if he did not take another apprentice. It made our beginning… difficult. And now, I’m doing the same to you. I’m so sorry, Ani.”

Anakin frowned, still holding tight to Obi-Wan’s robes, and carefully asked, “So you just… you don’t think you’d be a good Master?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan whispered, blinking rapidly to clear away the last of his tears, making a valiant effort to smile, although it didn’t quite work. “But, Ani… what do  _ you _ want?”

“I want… I want  _ you _ ,” Anakin admitted, his chin wobbling in his effort not to start crying again himself. “I don’t know how you could be a bad Master. You’re  _ you _ , and you’re  _ perfect _ , and you always… you always understand me, even when nobody else gets what I’m trying to say. But… if you don’t want me--”

“No,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and Anakin flinched, trying to pull away, but Obi-Wan pulled him back to his chest, hugging him again. “That isn’t what I meant. I  _ do _ want you, Ani. But I… I couldn’t bear to fail you. It isn’t  _ you _ , dear one, it’s  _ me _ . I have so many  _ doubts _ . I am… I am far from  _ perfect _ , Anakin.”

“You sure seem like it,” Anakin muttered, and Obi-Wan laughed, though it was hoarse. Anakin smiled slightly, and this time Obi-Wan let him go when he pulled back enough to look at him. “Do you really want me?”

“Yes, Ani. I do,” Obi-Wan said, giving him a watery smile. “But it’s… complicated.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “Do you want to meditate about it?”

Obi-Wan smiled softly at him. “That’s a wonderful idea, Ani. But let me comm Master Tyyyvak first; I have a feeling you’ll be back rather late. Would you mind making us some tea while I do that?”

Anakin nodded, smiling at him, and he darted in to give Obi-Wan one more quick squeeze before wriggling out of his lap and darting out of his room.

Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan were still in the living room, Master Qui-Gon in the armchair that was indisputably  _ his _ , a bulbous, misshapen, bright green pillow behind his back that Anakin had made him during one of the creche activities years ago, when he’d first arrived in the Temple, and Master Yan on the couch, one arm draped over the back of it, his other hand holding his drink.

“Is everything alright, Ani?” Master Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin nodded quickly.

“Uh-huh, we’re good,” he said in a rush. “Just, uh, talking a lot. I’m gonna make tea--um, would either of you like some?”

“No, thank you, Initiate,” Master Yan said. Anakin nodded again and escaped into the kitchen, hoping to avoid more of their questions.

As Anakin waited for the kettle to boil, he jumped as he turned and saw Master Yan in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at him, his expression oddly gentle.

“Uh, hi? Master,” Anakin said awkwardly.

“Be patient with him,” Master Yan said, and Anakin blinked. “Obi-Wan’s greatest flaw has always been a lack of self-confidence.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “You know what we were talking about, don’t you?”

“I do,” Master Yan confirmed, nodding slightly. “And I agree with you: the Force means for the two of you to be together. But Obi-Wan is… He has been hurt greatly. The best you could do right now to convince him is to be patient and compassionate.”

Anakin frowned. “Has he… talked to you about… y’know,” Anakin dropped his voice to a whisper, “the  _ vision _ ?”

“We discuss it, on occasion,” Master Yan answered evenly. “I am exempt from the Council’s ban, given that I experienced the same ‘vision.’”

“Oh,” Anakin said dully. An awkward silence fell, and Anakin jumped in surprise as the kettle whistled. “I need to, uh--”

“Of course,” Master Yan said smoothly, turning to leave.

“Master Yan?” Anakin called after him, and although he didn’t turn around, he did tilt his head and pause his steps to show Anakin he was listening. “Uh, thank you. You’ve always been… You’ve always cared about us. It’s nice. Just…  _ Vor’e _ .”

Master Yan nodded sharply, and then he was gone, presumably back to the living room with Master Qui-Gon. Quickly, Anakin finished making their tea. Carefully scooping up the two mugs, he bit his lip as he walked back to Obi-Wan’s room, trying hard not to spill any.

When Obi-Wan’s door opened, Anakin smiled. The lights were still on, but Obi-Wan was curled up on his cot, fast asleep, still holding his comm in one hand. Shaking his head, Anakin gently set the mugs down on the bedside table and turned off the lights. Tugging off his boots, he decided that if Obi-Wan had already warned Master Tyyyvak he would be late coming back, there wouldn’t be much harm in letting Obi-Wan sleep for a while.

Anakin sat down on the bed and then laid down, the small bed forcing his back to Obi-Wan’s chest. Without waking, Obi-Wan threw one arm over Anakin’s stomach, nuzzling into his hair lightly. With a gentle smile, Anakin used the Force to tug the blanket over them so he wouldn’t have to move Obi-Wan, and closed his eyes. Even if Obi-Wan was too hurt to be his Master, he could still enjoy this--at least for tonight. He really was getting too old for this.

He was almost asleep when the door opened, and he heard Master Qui-Gon’s soft, deep chuckle at them before a kiss was pressed to his forehead, and then to Obi-Wan’s.

“Sleep well, my little lights,” Master Qui-Gon whispered. Anakin fell asleep smiling, with a lingering impression of warmth and  _ love _ .

Neither he nor Obi-Wan had any nightmares that night.

* * *

Anakin woke the next morning and immediately panicked. He sat bolt upright in the otherwise empty bed, his eyes wide, and he looked at the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and he swore in a truly colorful and creative fashion. (Asajj knew some of the  _ best _ swears, somehow, and she was always willing to teach him new ones.)

Tripping over his feet as he struggled to walk out of the room as he pulled on his boots, Anakin ran a hand through his hair, which he knew was standing up in all different directions, and scowled as he realized he didn’t have time for a shower.

Jogging down the hallway, he stopped dead as he caught sight of Obi-Wan in the kitchen, at the stove. Obi-Wan turned to look at Anakin over his shoulder, smiling at him. “Good morning, Ani,” he said brightly, as if the night before hadn’t even happened. “Would you like some flatcakes?”

“Um, I’d love to, but I’m running late,” Anakin groaned. “I can’t miss my History class, I need to know what my actual test score was, to make sure my average is still good, and--”

Obi-Wan turned more fully to him, frowning. “Ani, it’s Primeday. Don’t you have a free day?”

Oh. Anakin flushed as he realized that Obi-Wan was right. Seeing that, Obi-Wan laughed and turned back to the stove, returning his attention to the flatcakes.

“Why don’t you go set the table? I’ve already commed Master Tyyyvak again to let her know where you are,” Obi-Wan told him, and Anakin nodded even though Obi-Wan couldn’t see it.

“Is Master Qui-Gon up?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan hummed an affirmative.

“He’s left already, however,” Obi-Wan said. “He was roped into leading the younglings’ morning meditation. He’ll already be there, I expect.”

“‘Kay,” Anakin said, somewhat grateful that it would just be the two of them, hoping that they could pick up where they’d left off the night before. Obi-Wan came over to the table, setting the plate with a tall stack of flatcakes down and the bottle of japor-berry syrup before retreating to grab their drinks: blue milk for Anakin and caff for Obi-Wan. As much as he loved tea, Obi-Wan needed that surge of caffeine first thing in the morning, or else he was  _ really _ grumpy.

“Do you have any plans today?” Obi-Wan asked, grabbing one pancake from the stack and smothering it in syrup as Anakin grabbed three at once.

Well, yeah, honestly, Anakin  _ had  _ had plans. No matter what Obi-Wan’s answer was, Anakin still needed to study; he was in danger of dropping below a 95% in his Core World Politics class, and there was an exam coming up next week. He needed to do well on it to maintain his average, so he could show Obi-Wan he would be a good Padawan, and--

“Not really,” Anakin lied, and Obi-Wan smiled gently.

“Good. I was thinking we might go swimming,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin beamed.

“That’s awesome! In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or one of the pools?”

“Hmm, which would you rather?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin frowned thoughtfully.  _ Obi-Wan’s  _ favorite was the pool on level Besh-6, the Mon Cala pool. It was where his friend and crechemate, Bant, had taught him to swim, and where Obi-Wan had taught Anakin in turn, in the beginning of his time at the Temple. Swimming had been good for Qui-Gon’s recovery, gentler than other exercise while still building up his muscles again, and the three of them had done a  _ lot _ of swimming those first few months.

“Can we go to our pool?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan chuckled.

“It isn’t  _ ours _ , Ani, but yes,” he agreed warmly, smiling even as he shook his head in exasperation. Anakin felt he’d made the right choice and beamed at him.

“I know, but we have a lot of good memories there,” Anakin said with a shrug. Then he snickered. “Like when Master Qui-Gon decided to start that splash war, but he didn’t know Bant was already in the pool, just waiting to pull him down!”

Obi-Wan laughed, remembering that day with a fond smile. Anakin’s own grin grew wider.  _ This _ was a good plan. Remind Obi-Wan of all of the good times that they’d had together, show him that Anakin wouldn’t  _ Fall _ , he wouldn’t become a  _ Sith _ , not like Obi-Wan’s other Padawan in that vision did. Obi-Wan had nothing to be scared of, but Anakin just had to remind him of that.

That was what he would do, he decided. He’d spend today with Obi-Wan, trying to make it the  _ best _ day ever, and then ask again if Obi-Wan wanted him.

With that decided, he set about demolishing his small mountain of flatcakes.

* * *

Anakin hadn’t even had to  _ convince _ Obi-Wan to spend all day doing stuff together. After they were done swimming, Obi-Wan had taken him to the hangars where he helped him rebuild an engine on a Temple transport that the mechanics had written off weeks ago; when it was finished, and the engine actually started, Anakin had whooped and hugged Obi-Wan tightly, knowing and not caring in the least that he was covered in oil broadcasting his pure  _ joy _ when Obi-Wan laughed brightly and hugged him back.

Then, after a light lunch, Obi-Wan had taken him to the Archives to help him study for his next poetry paper. This time, at least, Anakin got to pick his own poem, and he’d chosen a Mandalorian epic. He had to admit, poetry sounded a lot better when it was Obi-Wan reading it aloud for him, helping him to find meaning in the vague, indirect language (which Anakin still didn’t really get--why didn’t people just say what they meant in the first place?).

After that, Obi-Wan had glanced at his comm, and Anakin’s stomach had dropped, thinking that Obi-Wan had to go soon. Instead, Obi-Wan looked up at him with a wide, easy grin.

“That was confirmation from Master Tyyyvak,” he said. “She’s given me permission to escort you out of the Temple this evening.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. Since he’d arrived at the Temple nearly three years ago, he hadn’t left it, except to visit the Coruscant Museum one time with the rest of his agemates, all of the Clans going on a field trip at once. It was a wonder Master Tyyyvak hadn’t started pulling out her hair or growling, having to corral that many hyperactive Initiates at once.

“Really? Where are we going?”

“I thought we could get dinner somewhere special,” Obi-Wan answered lightly. “Where specifically is a surprise.” He winked, and Anakin grinned excitedly.

“Okay! Just let me finish my notes real quick, I don’t want to forget what we talked about with the themes,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded, giving him a moment to tap frantically on the ‘pad he was holding.

In the space of five minutes after declaring he was finished, Anakin was in a taxi with Obi-Wan, fighting against the urge to press his face against the window to watch the other traffic zipping past. They flew for a few minutes and then set down along a stretch of buildings, some skyscrapers, and a few squat ones. Obi-Wan paid the driver and then exited after Anakin.

“It’s this one right here,” Obi-Wan said, indicating one of the squat little one-story buildings; this one had a neon light in the window, flashing “OPEN” at them in Aurebesh.

“What is this place?” Anakin asked, not seeing any signs to name the restaurant.

“This is Dex’s.” Anakin looked up at him with wide eyes, freezing mid-step on the pavement.

“Really?!”

“Really,” Obi-Wan chuckled. He took Anakin’s hand and walked up to the door.

Inside, the restaurant had a pleasant  _ hum _ of activity: a serving droid with a female vocorder rolled around on her uniwheel, and the place was fairly full with patrons, happily chattering and munching on their food.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin looked over at the call, seeing a fat Besalisk in a stained shirt and apron approaching them, smiling widely. Obi-Wan let go of his hand just before the Besalisk swept him up in a four-armed embrace tight enough that Anakin was momentarily concerned for Obi-Wan’s spine.

“Hello, Dex,” Obi-Wan wheezed, and Dex laughed, clapping him firmly on the back before letting him go, turning to Anakin.

“Who’s this, then?”

“‘M Anakin,” he introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you!”

Dex’s grin widened and he stuck one of his arms out to shake Anakin’s hand. “Ah, so  _ you’re _ the little Skywalker who won the Boonta Eve and saved Naboo! Obi-Wan’s told me all about you. Sit down, sit down! The usual, I’m guessing?”

“Please,” Obi-Wan confirmed, nodding at Dex’s immediate reply of “comin’ right up!” and leading Anakin over to a booth. His feet didn’t quite touch the ground, and he swung them back and forth beneath the table, keeping most of his attention on Obi-Wan even as he looked out the window at the tall buildings around them.

They made light conversation for the next few minutes, Obi-Wan patiently answering each of Anakin’s questions about the buildings outside, until Dex reappeared with their food. Anakin beamed and immediately began shoving the frites into his mouth--he  _ liked _ tubers, in general, but they were so much better fried like this. Obi-Wan smiled at him and shook his head.

“Thank you, Dex.”

“Of course, of course! Now, just let me…” Dex pulled over one of the stools from the counter, plopping himself down on it. Anakin wondered how he  _ fit _ on it, and Obi-Wan snorted softly. Anakin blushed, realizing he’d heard that thought. “Alright, then, kiddo--” Dex paused to give Anakin a slow, wide, toothy grin that made him freeze, one of the frites halfway to his mouth. “--has Obi-Wan ever told you the story of how we met?”

“No,” Anakin answered slowly, looking from Obi-Wan, who rolled his eyes, but was smiling, too, and then back to Dex.

“You’re in for a treat, then. He was still a Padawan himself, back then, about--oh, fifteen, were you? Anyway, he and his Master had gotten themselves into their usual amount of trouble…”

* * *

Anakin didn’t  _ mean _ to fall asleep on the ride back to the Temple, but he was just so  _ tired _ . It had been a long day--a  _ good _ day, an  _ exciting _ day, but long, and busier than usual. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, leaning up against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Obi-Wan’s arm around him loosely, until Obi-Wan gently shook him awake. Sheepishly, Anakin followed Obi-Wan out of the taxi, and back into the Temple.

When he started to take the turn back to the creche, Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s one more place I’d like to go today,” he said softly, smiling down at Anakin gently. His grin turned teasing as he raised an eyebrow and added, “If you aren’t too tired, that is.”

“I’m awake!” Anakin protested, nodding vigorously. Obi-Wan chuckled and pointed the other way down the hall.

“This way, then.”

He followed Obi-Wan through the halls and to a turbolift, where Obi-Wan punched in a floor far below the surface, in the lower levels that Anakin had never been able to explore before. As the doors opened and Obi-Wan stepped out, Anakin frowned. It was  _ dark _ down here, only the emergency lights still working; the stone looked rougher and worn, and he wondered how old this part of the Temple was. He darted forward to grab Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan, as always, just squeezed gently and pulled him along.

They went through a few stone corridors, mostly empty except for broken-down mouse droids here and there--and Anakin felt bad for them; maybe he could ask Obi-Wan if they could take them back up with them, because he just  _ knew _ he could get them working again--until Obi-Wan led him through an archway and into a larger hall. It was too dark to really make anything out well, but Anakin thought there were carvings on the walls.

“Where are we?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“This is one of the oldest parts of the Temple, Ani,” Obi-Wan murmured. “We’re only a few levels up from the Temple wellspring, and the Force feels… more potent down here. Everything seems clearer when I’m down here--I come here, sometimes, when I want to… get away.” When he wanted to hide from people fawning over him, Anakin translated, and he beamed at the fact that Obi-Wan was trusting him enough to show him his hiding place.

Obi-Wan led them to the center of the room and sat down, not caring about the dust. Anakin sat too, folding his legs beneath him, staring at Obi-Wan, who was smiling back gently.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, and Anakin closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan was right, as always. The Force swirled around him as soon as he reached for it, and he thought he heard voices whispering, although he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Until one voice in particular--Obi-Wan’s voice--rose above them all: “ _ The Council have granted me permission to train you. You will be a Jedi, Anakin. I promise. _ ”

His eyes flew open, staring at Obi-Wan, whose expression hadn’t changed, still smiling softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, feeling  _ hope _ fluttering in his chest. “I feel it.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! It was great,” Anakin said, grinning broadly at him. “Thank you.”

“Good. I wanted… I hadn’t realized how I’d made you feel,” Obi-Wan said gently, “and I’m very sorry for it. I wanted to give you today to show you how much I  _ do _ enjoy spending time with you. How much I want you.”

Anakin felt that  _ hope _ beat a little stronger in his chest. “It was perfect,” Anakin assured him, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“Ani, I thought that… well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “The perfect day needs a perfect ending, doesn’t it?” Slowly, Obi-Wan reached out and took both of Anakin’s hands in his. “Anakin Skywalker, would you be my Padawan Leaner?”

Anakin stared at him, smiling so wide his face hurt, and he nodded frantically, words escaping him. Just to make sure Obi-Wan got it, he scrambled forward and threw himself at Obi-Wan, who laughed and hugged him back, settling him more comfortably in his lap as Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,  _ yes _ ,” Anakin realized he was chanting, and Obi-Wan was laughing, bright and happy, and Anakin squeezed him again before letting go, leaning back, but not moving out of Obi-Wan’s lap. “Thank you, Obi-Wan! I’ll be the best Padawan  _ ever _ !”

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, rubbing one hand over Anakin’s back. “I’m certain you will, dear one.”

* * *

Anakin was buzzing with excitement when he woke up the next morning. Obi-Wan had already braided his hair the night before, in the dark and quiet stillness of the lower levels, and Master Tyyyvak had beamed at them and roared--softly, so as not to wake the little ones--when Obi-Wan walked him back to the creche later that night.

All that was left now was the Confirmation with the Council, and then it would be official. Then he’d  _ really  _ be Obi-Wan’s Padawan.

Anakin smiled to himself and jumped out of bed. He didn’t stop smiling while he showered, or while he brushed his teeth (although that made things a little difficult, but he just laughed to himself about it, in too good of a mood to stop), or while he got dressed. He already knew that Obi-Wan and Master Tyyyvak had gotten him excused from his classes all day, since he’d have to go see the Council, and then move everything to… Huh. He knew that Obi-Wan still lived with Master Qui-Gon--would he just be moving into Obi-Wan’s room with him? Or would Obi-Wan be moving, too?

He decided it didn’t matter (although, privately, Anakin really liked the idea of both of them living with Master Qui-Gon; it made him feel warm and safe and happy, when all of them were together, like how he felt when his  _ buir _ called) and finally walked out of the dorm to meet Master Tyyyvak.

She was busy, he saw, with a youngling on each hip and another one tugging at the fur on her legs, and Anakin shook his head, still smiling.

He felt a tug on his tunics and looked down; it was the little Togruta girl from the other day, standing on unsteady legs in front of him, holding both arms up.

“Up!” she demanded, and Anakin rolled his eyes, but picked her up. She giggled happily at him and snuggled up against his chest, but not even  _ that _ could make him stop smiling. Not today.

“Master Tyyyvak?” he called, and he giggled at her somewhat exasperated-sounding, wordless roar in return. “Do you know when I’m supposed to go?”

“I’m already here, Ani.” He turned as he heard Obi-Wan’s voice, smiling so widely that he felt his eyes crinkle. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then laughed.

“I see you have a passenger,” he said, walking over and bending down slightly to get a better look at the youngling. Anakin frowned as that old, familiar  _ grief _ passed over his face, but it was gone the next moment, replaced by a gentle smile. “Hello, little ‘Soka.”

The girl giggled at him and simply burrowed closer to Anakin, who rolled his eyes.

“Well,  _ Padawan _ ,” Obi-Wan said, and just like that, Anakin was beaming again, “are you ready?”

“Yeah! Uh, just let me, um--I gotta put you down now,” he said to the little girl. She glared at him.

“No!”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I promise that we will come back to visit, Ahsoka,” he said. “But he really does need to go with me now.”

Ahsoka turned her glare on Obi-Wan, then, and he merely raised an eyebrow at her. Finally, she made a little, disgruntled “hmph!” and folded her arms over her chest. Obi-Wan laughed again and Anakin shook his head, setting her gently down on the floor.

“You have to be back,” she demanded, looking at them both with an expression that, were it not on a three-year-old, might have passed for stern. “Come play.”

“Of course, little one,” Obi-Wan promised, nodding very seriously at her. He knelt down and held out his right hand, extending his pinky. “Promise.”

Ahsoka clumsily wrapped her own little finger around Obi-Wan’s, and then nodded, brightening to smile again. “Bye!” She tottered off towards Master Tyyyvak, who howled at them in acknowledgement as Obi-Wan turned to lead Anakin out of the creche.

“We’ll come back for your things later,” Obi-Wan said, and then he sighed. “It may take a bit more time than expected to settle the matter of our new quarters.”

“Okay,” Anakin said easily. “Uh, why? You’re moving?”

“Yes, of course. I put the request in last night,” Obi-Wan explained, “but then I spoke to Master Qui-Gon this morning, and… well, he seemed to think it was silly for  _ me _ to be the one to move, and tried to insist that I stay in our quarters while  _ he _ moves out. Which I found completely ridiculous, since they are  _ his _ rooms and have been for  _ decades _ , but he did not seem to agree. He put in his own request with the Quartermaster, and Master Trekk found us  _ both _ ridiculous, and has denied both of our requests until one of them is withdrawn.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, and then he giggled. “That is pretty ridiculous. But why can’t you both just stay, and I’ll move in with you?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “You’ll want your privacy, I’m sure. I’d much rather you have your own room.”

“But I don’t need my own room,” Anakin protested. “I like spending time with you, and I don’t need  _ privacy _ .”

Obi-Wan outright laughed at that and shook his head. “You may think that now, Ani, but wait until you hit puberty. Trust me, you will be glad for your own room when you do. But we’ll sort that out later.” He stopped in front of the lift that would take them up to the Council Chamber. “Ready?”

Anakin beamed at him. “Ready!”

* * *

After that first time, when the Council had tested him, and Master Qui-Gon had made a  _ scene _ , Anakin hadn’t ever been back in front of the full High Council again. It sent a little shiver down his spine, remembering how cold and alone and  _ scared _ he’d felt that day, but he pushed it away easily.

_ Everything  _ was different now. He wasn’t the same scared little  _ kid _ anymore. Anakin  _ knew _ the Councilors in ways he hadn’t, then--he knew how Master Adi  _ loved  _ the little ones, and saw her in the creche regularly; he knew how Master Kit loved playing pranks, and gave sly little suggestions to Initiates and Padawans who were up to no good; he knew how Master Mace was a demanding teacher in ‘saber class, but he also knew how good it felt when Master Mace smiled at him and told him he’d done well; he knew Master Plo, and their shared love of piloting and mechanics; he knew that Master Shaak loved arts and crafts day more than any other in the creche, and never minded being covered in paint or shimmerdust during their projects; he knew Master Yoda, and his endless patience in the face of Anakin’s equally endless stream of questions.

And this time, having Obi-Wan beside him was  _ different _ . He wasn’t just some  _ slave _ Master Qui-Gon had picked up and brought back like a stray. He was a  _ person _ , his name was Anakin Skywalker, and he was going to be Obi-Wan Kenobi’s  _ Padawan _ .

He stood taller as he straightened from his bow, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, even though he knew that everyone was supposed to be serene and businesslike in front of the Council. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as many of the Masters smiled back.

Even Master Mace looked happier, although for him, that just meant looking calm and serene instead of annoyed, the tension around his eyes and mouth disappearing. “Knight Kenobi, why have you come before this Council today?”

“I seek Confirmation, Masters, for my Padawan Learner.”

“Known to us, Initiate Skywalker is,” Yoda hummed, still smiling, wide and gentle. “A bright student, he is, and determined. A good heart, he has. Kind, he is.” Anakin blushed a little and glanced down at the floor at the Master’s praise. Master Yoda cackled. “Agree, do you, to become Knight Kenobi’s Padawan?”

“Yes, Master!” Anakin answered a bit louder than he’d intended, looking up and nodding. A few more chuckles spread through the room.

“I think we can all see the rightness of the match,” Master Adi said. “So unless anyone has any objections…?”

There was a beat of silence, and the Master Kit said, “Well, Knight Kenobi is still pretty  _ young _ .” Another chorus of laughter rang through the Chamber, and Anakin got the sense he was missing out on a joke. “But I just think that’ll give him the energy he needs to keep up with the kid.”

“Your vote of confidence is appreciated, Master Fisto,” Obi-Wan said dryly.

Even Master Mace’s lips twitched at that, and he shook his head. “Very well, then. Knight Kenobi, you are officially Master to Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin  _ beamed _ again, his cheeks still sore from how much smiling he’d been doing, and he bowed in unison with Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Masters.”

Master Mace nodded, and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, Knight Kenobi,  _ Padawan _ Skywalker--don’t you have new quarters to settle?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, Master. Thank you for reminding me.”

As they left the Council Chamber, Anakin made sure to remember what it felt like, this time: the mirth still flowing freely into the Force from the Council, the way the sun filled the room, the way Obi-Wan’s presence was warm and comforting just beside him. It was nothing like the last time he’d left this room, and he felt that last little part of him that  _ doubted _ finally fall silent.

He  _ would _ be a Jedi Knight. Anakin just  _ knew it _ .

* * *

Anakin sat cross-legged on the couch, his elbow resting on one knee, and his chin propped up on his hand, watching Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan-- _ Master _ Obi-Wan--argue. It was… very mild, but for them, it was a full-on  _ fight _ . They’d been at it for over an hour already, bickering over who was going to vacate the quarters they’d shared for so long.

“--makes far more sense for  _ you _ to simply move across the hall and into my room,” Qui-Gon was saying for perhaps the fiftieth time. “As I will  _ not _ be taking on any more Padawans, I will have no need for the additional bedroom.”

“There is no shortage of Master and Padawan quarters, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan sighed. “If there did exist such a shortage, I would understand your impulse to leave, but the fact remains that we have  _ plenty _ of space. I would not turn you out of the quarters that have been your home for over  _ thirty years _ \--”

“Ah, but change will be good for me, I think,” Qui-Gon said, waving a hand at him in dismissal of his point. “I  _ am _ getting older, and perhaps a bit set in my ways. Perhaps this is precisely the sort of cure I need for that particular problem--”

“Master?” Anakin spoke up, and both turned to look at him. “Um, either of you. Can I see one of your datapads, please? I mean, there’s some homework I need to do, if you’re going to keep fighting for a while.”

Obi-Wan huffed, but turned away to fetch his datapad as Master Qui-Gon blinked at him.

“We aren’t fighting, Ani.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow in an imitation of Obi-Wan. “Sounds like it to me, Master.” Obi-Wan returned and handed him his ‘pad before turning back to Master Qui-Gon, seamlessly picking up the discussion-that-totally-wasn’t-an-argument.

Anakin turned his focus to the ‘pad, hoping that Obi-Wan wasn’t fussy enough to end all of the applications running each time he set it down. Nope! Anakin smiled as he saw the transfer request still sitting there. This part was  _ easy _ . He cancelled the request, and then logged out of the system, logging back in as Master Qui-Gon. He was  _ really _ bad at making sure Anakin didn’t see his access code, and it was really easy to remember, anyway, since it was Obi-Wan’s birthday.

Accessing Master Qui-Gon’s request, he simply altered it quickly. He glanced up, listening with half an ear as Master Qui-Gon argued that he simply wouldn’t  _ need _ so much space on his own, and the simple of fact of how  _ long _ he’d resided in these rooms was a non-issue, since Jedi formed no attachments, not even to their quarters. A moment later, the ‘pad pinged quietly, a green confirmation message having appeared, and Anakin beamed.

“There!” he declared, holding out the datapad. “I fixed it.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and then frowned. “I was unaware that my datapad was broken.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Not the  _ ‘pad _ , Master. The room request. I fixed it.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan reached out to take the datapad, eyes skimming over it, before he started laughing.

“What did you do?” Master Qui-Gon asked with no little hint of suspicion. Wordlessly, still chuckling too much to speak clearly, Obi-Wan simply handed the ‘pad over to him. Master Qui-Gon peered down at it carefully, and then he barked a laugh, too. “You requested a three-room suite.”

“Uh-huh!” Anakin declared. “Since Obi-Wan-- _ Master _ Obi-Wan--decided that I  _ have _ to have my own room--”

“You will thank him for that decision later, Ani.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and continued as if Master Qui-Gon hadn’t interrupted. “--and you two were being so  _ ridiculous _ about who was going to move, I decided we should  _ all _ just move. Together.”

“It is certainly a  _ creative _ solution,” Master Qui-Gon said, a smile beginning to form on his face. He looked to Obi-Wan, raising an eyebrow. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Well, it’s already been approved,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “And I think we might drive poor Master Trekk out of his mind if we try to alter the requests further.”

Master Qui-Gon nodded, adopting a sagely look. “You are quite right, Obi-Wan. It would be best to proceed with Padawan Skywalker’s ingenious plan.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Obi-Wan said, just as serene. He turned to Anakin and bowed slightly. “You have our thanks, Padawan, for ending our… dispute.”

Anakin giggled and rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, if you guys are all done being ridiculous now, can we go see our new quarters?”

* * *

Their new quarters were  _ perfect _ . They were  _ huge _ , too, compared to the rooms Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had shared for so long: the living room was probably twice the size, with a huge,  _ comfy _ blue couch and two tan armchairs all surrounding a caff table big enough for Anakin to disassemble droids on; the living room led to a kitchen that was  _ huge _ compared to the size of the little galley they’d had before, and Anakin had smiled at Obi-Wan’s happy little hum when he saw it--Obi-Wan loved to cook, although where he’d gotten that from, Anakin didn’t know, since Master Qui-Gon was just  _ hopeless _ ; their dining room had a taller table with chairs instead of cushions. One bedroom was at one end of their quarters, just off of the living room, with its own attached ‘fresher, and the other two were down another hallway on the other side, sharing another ‘fresher between them.

“Now, which room would you like, Ani?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin had looked at the rooms, and they were nearly identical, except for the views; one of them had a view to the Senate dome, and the other overlooked one of the few gardens that were actually outdoors, on one of the rooftop terraces. Honestly, Anakin would be perfectly happy with either room, but he had seen the way Obi-Wan had stopped to stare at the Senate building, tensing.

“The one on the left, I think,” he decided, choosing the room that looked out at the Senate. He smiled. “I can see more ships and speeders going by that way!”

Obi-Wan laughed, and Anakin knew that he’d made the right choice when he felt his quiet relief. “The one on the left it is, then.” He paused. “I think that we might need to trouble Master Trekk once more.”

“What for?” Anakin asked, frowning thoughtfully. Anything that wasn’t in these new quarters already, they had in their old ones.

“We shall have to have the beds switched, and we’ll need a repulsorlift to do so,” Obi-Wan explained, and then a thoughtful little glimmer entered his eyes. Anakin wasn’t sure he liked that look. “Unless you’d like to brush up on your Force techniques.”

Their new quarters were almost straight up from the old ones, Anakin found, only three levels up, but nearly a straight shot. As he leaned slightly out of the window in Obi-Wan’s new room, careful not too lean too far and lose his balance, Anakin bit his lip, concentrating hard as he lowered the sleep couch down from the new room to Obi-Wan, where he was leaning out the window of their old quarters.

“What are you doing, Ani?”

Anakin lost his concentration for a moment, and the sleep couch plummeted a few meters before he caught it.

“ _ Concentrate, Padawan! _ ” he heard Obi-Wan yell out the window below.

“Sorry, Master!” he yelled back. His tongue darted out between his lips as he renewed his focus, though he was still distantly aware of Master Qui-Gon behind him. Finally, Obi-Wan took over, levitating the sleep couch into his old room. Anakin relaxed, turning to Master Qui-Gon. “Um, Master Obi-Wan didn’t want to bother Master Trekk with having the beds moved around. So he decided we should use the Force to do it ourselves.”

Master Qui-Gon stared at him, and then laughed. “A clever idea, if a bit… dangerous,” he hummed. “Why don’t you allow me to get the bedframe, hmm?”

Anakin nodded eagerly--it had been hard enough to move the sleep couch, and the bed frame was a lot heavier. He  _ knew _ what Master Yoda said--“size matters not”--but  _ still _ . If he kriffed up the second time, a falling metal frame could do a  _ lot _ more damage than a sleep couch.

He stepped back and allowed Master Qui-Gon to begin levitating the frame out the window once Obi-Wan called that he was ready. It went smoothly, and then Master Qui-Gon stepped back.

“Your turn again, Ani.”

Anakin nodded and stepped back up to the window.

_ Ready?  _ This time, Obi-Wan’s call came through their bond, and Anakin sent back a pulse of affirmation. A moment later, the field cot came floating through the window below him, and then began drifting upwards. Anakin reached out, wrapping it in the Force, and he could  _ feel _ Obi-Wan around it, too, his familiar warmth and precision. Anakin noticed Obi-Wan’s influence over the cot lessening, leaving it in his hands, and Anakin finished the journey; the cot wobbled only slightly as he brought it in through the open window.

_ Well done, Padawan _ , Obi-Wan said over their bond with a little wave of happiness. Anakin beamed, not bothering to reply when he knew Obi-Wan could feel his own pleasure.

“Well, now that that’s done,” Master Qui-Gon said, that same glint in his eyes that Obi-Wan had had, “there are a few other items that need to be moved…”

Anakin grinned.

* * *

They got their first visitor that afternoon, after they’d finished moving everything up. Many of Master Qui-Gon’s plants were still on the floor in the living room, waiting to be placed in their new homes; Master Qui-Gon picked each one up and then carried it around the entire apartment, muttering to himself as he placed the pot on a shelf, or a table, and then shook his head, picked it back up, and repeated the procedure. Obi-Wan had set his own room to rights fairly quickly, and was busy helping Anakin  _ decorate _ his own. He’d done a little bit of that, helping with some of the murals in the creche on art day, but this room was  _ his _ , and Obi-Wan had told him he could do whatever he liked. Anakin had found a map reader and they both found themselves quickly covered in paint as they began tracing the patterns of constellations onto his walls.

When their door chimed, Anakin heard Master Qui-Gon call for whoever it was to come in rather absently.

“Where’s Kenobi?” Anakin and Obi-Wan looked at each other--that was Master Mace, and that was his “you-are-in- _ big _ -trouble” voice. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, padding out of Anakin’s room; Anakin followed just behind him. Whatever Master Mace wanted to yell about, it was better if Anakin were there, too--he thought that Master Mace tried to steer away from some of his nastier comments when younger Jedi were around.

“Master Windu, what can I do for you?” Obi-Wan asked politely, and Master Mace raised an eyebrow, looking them both up and down, taking in the paint splotches that covered them. “Ah, don’t mind us--we were redecorating. Would you care for some tea?”

“No.” Master Mace sighed and shook his head. “You’ve been his Master for less than  _ eight hours _ , Obi-Wan. What the  _ kriff _ ?”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mace, but I’m not sure--”

“Half the Temple saw you three  _ levitating a karking garden _ through the windows,” Master Mace growled. “We won’t be able to give lectures on ‘inappropriate use of the Force’ for  _ weeks _ after this. And I swear, if you gave any of the Initiates any  _ ideas _ , you will--”

“Here,” Master Qui-Gon interrupted him, shoving a purple, leafy plant in a bright yellow pot into Master Mace’s hands. He blinked and stared down at it. Obi-Wan giggled, and Anakin hid his face in Obi-Wan’s side, trying to hide his own laughter. One of Obi-Wan’s paint-covered hands came up to rest on his shoulder. “Help me decide where to put this.”

Master Mace glared at Master Qui-Gon. “Of course you were in on this.”

Master Qui-Gon smiled innocently and shrugged. “Anakin and Obi-Wan were quite helpful to me, moving my things from our old quarters. Some days the old war wound bothers me more than others.” Master Qui-Gon paused to pat his stomach, sighing dramatically. “I fear today is one of those days, and they acted quite compassionately, deciding to save my old bones and aching muscles the many trips.”

He knew that Master Qui-Gon wasn’t really in that much pain, and he was just playing it up to get them out of trouble. And Anakin couldn’t help himself--he burst out laughing just as Obi-Wan did again, the two of them leaning on each other. Anakin swore he saw a vein start throbbing on Master Windu’s forehead.

“And the bed?” he ground out.

“That was an act of compassion, too, Master,” Anakin said, managing to stifle his giggles enough to sound very  _ proper _ , though he was still leaning against Obi-Wan and smiling far too broadly, “for poor Master Trekk’s sanity.”

Obi-Wan  _ howled _ with laughter, and Anakin went with him, and finally Master Qui-Gon broke, too, throwing his head back and laughing as Master Mace just  _ stared  _ at all of them.

Finally, as the three of them subsided into giggles, Master Mace shook his head, wordlessly turned around, dropped the plant gently onto the carpet beside the door, and left.

“You know,” Qui-Gon said, wiping away his tears of laughter, “I do rather think I like that plant there.”


	7. Qui-Gon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hi guys! I promise I'm not dead!
> 
> I'm so sorry about not responding to comments or anything, but real life happened these last few weeks, so I've been focusing on that. I do have the first 10 chapters written (the first arc of the story), so don't worry! I'll still be updating weekly, it just might take me some time to reply to everyone's comments.
> 
> I swear, I do read every single comment, and at some point, I will find the time to reply!
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy! We've only got 1 more chapter before we hit more action...

In spite of the mutterings of the other Masters about  _ attachment _ , Qui-Gon was pleased by his new living arrangements. He hadn’t wanted to admit to Obi-Wan that he had had no desire to remain in those rooms, still steeped in Obi-Wan’s own presence, without him. He was grateful to Anakin for finding a clever excuse for them. And the new quarters were quite to his liking--they got good light, and there was enough space that Qui-Gon thought he might be able to pick up a new batch of plants from the gardens.

Anakin was settling in well, he was glad to note. Qui-Gon had gotten a sense of… desperation from the boy before Obi-Wan had Chosen him, but that seemed to have faded away into joyful happiness and determination. Qui-Gon was glad to see that Obi-Wan was not making the same mistakes with Anakin that Qui-Gon had made himself when Obi-Wan had been young. It made Qui-Gon smile, walking into their quarters and seeing a half-disassembled mouse droid on the caff table where Anakin had left it, one of the signs of the boy settling in.

But Obi-Wan…

Qui-Gon had realized, of course, that Obi-Wan still did not sleep well. He hadn’t since Naboo, and while he was concerned by the fact that even the space of two years hadn’t been enough to rid Obi-Wan of the nightmares he suffered, Qui-Gon knew that there was little he could do. Obi-Wan had taken to long meditations before bed to reenforce his shields, making sure that his nightmares no longer woke Qui-Gon up (and they hadn’t, not since that night so long ago now when Qui-Gon had gotten a glimpse of that awful, fiery vision-dream), but Qui-Gon still knew when he hadn’t slept well, or hadn’t slept at all. It was much too difficult for Obi-Wan to hide the slight dimming of his presence in the Force, the slight shadows under his eyes, from Qui-Gon’s familiar gaze. Anakin, Force bless him, did not seem to realize.

No matter how much it chafed at him, Qui-Gon could not demand answers, per the orders of the Council--and even if he did disregard that particular instruction, as he had set aside so many others over the years, he knew that Obi-Wan would not answer him. Qui-Gon could offer no help, no support, beyond making Obi-Wan’s caff for him particularly strong and sugary when he emerged from his room and Qui-Gon saw the set of his jaw, the far-off quality to his gaze. He could do nothing besides hug him tightly before bed each night, in an effort to give him something of  _ love _ to hold onto, trying to ward off the nightmares. He could do nothing besides try to distract him when they saw each other throughout the day, starting discussions on philosophy that did not interest him in the slightest, simply because he knew Obi-Wan found it all fascinating, pondering the mysteries of the Force and the intricacies of the Code.

But Obi-Wan had been doing… well enough, lately. He slept better on missions than he did at the Temple (and what that said about what Obi-Wan had Seen, Qui-Gon did not care to think about, choosing instead to believe that it was the sheer exhaustion from the missions that made his sleep less disturbed, and pointedly did not think about the fact that it was likely the Temple itself), and he and Qui-Gon had been out in the field frequently since Qui-Gon had been cleared. He had been delighted when Obi-Wan requested him as a mission partner, and the Council had been quick to agree to it. They were an effective team, and even though Master Rancisis had pursed his lips, no doubt thinking that the whole thing  _ reeked _ of attachment, they had not given the Council cause to regret the decision in the last eighteen months or so that they had been paired together as  _ equals _ .

Qui-Gon had respectfully declined to go back onto the mission roster by himself, once Obi-Wan was grounded to give him and Anakin their chance to adjust. He was Obi-Wan’s partner, after all--he might be a Knight, now, but Qui-Gon could still clearly see that he needed looking after. And besides that, they had not been able to spend more than a few weeks at a time back in the Temple since Naboo. With a young Padawan, he knew that Obi-Wan would be removed from the roster for at least six months in the Temple as they grew accustomed to each other (not that Qui-Gon thought they would  _ need _ that much time; the two clearly adored each other already), and he was content to wait until Obi-Wan was ready again, and Anakin was able to come with them.

And, well… perhaps it  _ was _ attachment, Qui-Gon conceded, if only to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts. But he had been given a great gift, having his two cherished Lights so near him, and he was content to bask in it for as long as the Force--or the Council--permitted it.

* * *

Qui-Gon was in their quarters, happily humming to himself--slightly off-key; he’d never been much of a singer--as he carefully watered and pruned his leafy charges, idly contemplating the gifts the Force had given him in recent years, when the door chimed.

“Come in,” he called absently, not turning away from the finicky Nubian vine that grew down from atop the shelving unit in the living room. It had been a gift from the Queen, during his recovery, and Qui-Gon knew that she must have asked Obi-Wan what to get him. It was rare that a Jedi accepted a gift of any kind, and if they  _ had _ to accept (or risk a cultural or ceremonial faux pas), the gifts were generally turned over to the Quartermaster, either to be put into the Temple’s stock, or given to the Archives, if the gift was of some cultural significance. But a simple plant, Qui-Gon had been able to excuse, and it truly was lovely, and worth the effort when it flowered once a month, tiny little white blossoms with yellow centers draping down from its tall perch.

“Ah, Master Jinn! Just the man I was looking for.” Qui-Gon half-turned, nodding politely to Cin Drallig.

“Master Drallig, what a pleasant surprise,” he said. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

“Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, giving the vine one last little, barely-there stroke before stepping back, moving to the kitchen. “I have red, green, or black.”

“Green, if you would.”

Qui-Gon prepared the tea quickly, soon returning to the living room to sink down into his preferred armchair, setting both teacups on the caff table--though he had to gently push aside several droid components to make room for them--and arranging the pillow Anakin had made him behind him. It may be ugly, but it brought a smile to Qui-Gon’s face and it was perfect for supporting his back, which had never quite been the same, after Naboo.

“What can I do for you, Master Drallig?” Qui-Gon asked politely. He frowned slightly at the predatory smile the ‘saber Master gave him in return.

“I saw that you’ve been removed from the mission roster for the first time in years,” he said, generously discounting the numerous times he or Obi-Wan or  _ both _ had been grounded due to injuries, “and I thought you could help with a little… project.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve seen you in the salles, and what you’ve put together is… impressive,” Master Drallig said, and Qui-Gon smiled. Although the injury rarely hurt anymore (despite what he had said to Mace--it  _ had _ served as a convenient excuse), he had found that his range of motion was not quite what it once had been, after the surgery to graft his abdominal muscles back together. As his recovery progressed, it had become clear to him that he would not be able to reclaim his title of Master of Ataru, not when he could no longer manage the rolls, jumps, and flips that were required. Instead, he had taken from it what he could, still preferring its sweeping slashes, decisive strikes, and twists, and with surprisingly patient help from Yan, he had incorporated Makashi. It had been easy enough to join in the lessons Yan gave to Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon had been pleased to find that his body and subconscious mind had forgotten less of the form of his childhood than he’d feared.

“Thank you. What project would you like my help with?”

“Well, there are some of our brethren at the Corellian Temple who have similar injuries to yours,” Master Drallig began. “I had hoped that since you’re going to be grounded here for a time, you might be willing to help them adapt their forms as you did your own. All of our candidates have already agreed to come to Coruscant, if this goes forward, so you wouldn’t need to leave at all.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. It was an interesting proposition, and he  _ had _ thought briefly about volunteering for a teaching rotation, or offering his services to the AgriCorps Knights who were in charge of the Temple gardens to fill his time while Anakin was in classes or off with Obi-Wan, training.

“How large is this group?”

Seeing that he was catching Qui-Gon’s interest, Master Drallig smiled broadly and leaned forward, holding his mug in both hands. “There are four Masters, one Knight, and two Padawans with similar injuries,” he said. “All of them prefer Ataru, although there’s a mix of secondary forms.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, and then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Have you thought of asking my former Master for his assistance as well?” he asked. “It was only with his help that I was able to develop my rather… unique style.”

Master Drallig’s expression turned sheepish. “I, ah, haven’t been able to catch him.”

Qui-Gon snorted, shaking his head. “He likely thought that you wanted him to teach a class of younglings,” Qui-Gon joked, and Master Drallig snorted.

“Like Hels,” he muttered. “After what happened last time? We only asked him to judge the ‘saber tournament, not even to teach them  _ personally _ , and Padawan Ijiki wouldn’t stop crying when she picked up a ‘saber for  _ weeks _ .” Master Drallig sighed and shook his head. “You think he’d agree?”

“I think he might,” Qui-Gon hummed. “I’ll speak to him this evening.”

“And you?”

“I am happy to help my fellow Jedi,” he said honestly, smiling widely. “Of course you can count on my assistance. When would they be arriving?”

“Next week,” Master Drallig answered, smiling just as broadly, though the expression was tinged with relief. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he was quick to assure the Master. “Although… have you gotten clearance from the Council? I know that they have certain…  _ opinions _ about our Corellian counterparts.”

Master Drallig chuckled. “It was Master Windu’s idea, as a matter of fact. He made a few…  _ interesting _ comments that lead me to believe that our Council is trying to foster a closer relationship with the other Temples.”

Qui-Gon felt-heard-saw a rush of  _ blue-green-yellow  _ as it seemed to whisper  **_change_ ** . He blinked in surprise--he had thought his synesthesia to have been dealt with long ago.

“That would be wonderful,” Qui-Gon said honestly, trying to ignore the strange sensation for the moment. He would meditate on it later. “And novel.”

Master Drallig smiled. “Yes, I think so.” He finished his tea and held up the empty mug. “Thank you for the tea, Master Jinn, and for agreeing to help us.”

Qui-Gon nodded, grinning back. “You’re quite welcome. I am simply glad to be of use.”

Master Drallig laughed. “I was honestly uncertain whether you’d have the time for it or not,” he said. “I hear that Padawan Skywalker is quite a handful, and I remember Obi-Wan from my classes. Corralling the two of them must be…” He trailed off, giving Qui-Gon a look full of amused pity.

Qui-Gon shook his head, a smile still tugging at his lips. “If you have time for another cup of tea, I could tell you a story or two…”

* * *

Qui-Gon blinked at the table absolutely  _ covered _ in food. Obi-Wan and Anakin had returned early and begun cooking  _ hours _ ago, sternly shooing him away; he had thought that they might have been making some rather extravagant dish, and had merely smiled, wished them well, and left them to it--there was no need to worry about  _ them _ burning down the kitchen, after all. Qui-Gon was the only one of the three inept enough to manage that.

When it had finally begun to approach their usual hour for dinner, Qui-Gon had wandered back in, only to find the table covered in far more food than their usual assortment of guests could manage to eat.

“What…?” he asked, and Anakin laughed. Obi-Wan ruffled his hair after setting down a pot of still-warm mashed tubers that looked and smelled absolutely  _ divine _ . Qui-Gon briefly wondered if he could sneak past them to retrieve a spoon to sample a taste or two.

As if sensing his thoughts, Obi-Wan fixed him with a light glare. “You may have some when our guests arrive.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Are you planning on feeding the entire floor?”

Anakin snickered and bounced on the balls of his feet while Obi-Wan simply shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough, Qui-Gon.”

Dinner that night was also arranged as a sort of “house warming,” Qui-Gon found. It was a nice surprise when a great many of their friends among the Order arrived,  _ precisely _ on time, as most Jedi were wont to do: Ky and Asajj, who was scowling more gently than usual, came bearing a lovely, hand-woven tapestry of the Temple for them to hang on the too-empty wall above the couch; Yan arrived with several bottles of brandy that Qui-Gon knew at a glance were ridiculously well-aged and expensive, and for those still too young to drink, several thermoses full of the hot cacao Qui-Gon had not seen him make since the very earliest days of his apprenticeship; Yoda was levitating a lovely green and blue carpet, rolled up and still roughly five times his own size, perfect for their much larger living room; Bant arrived, sporting a bright smile and three new medkits, which made Obi-Wan laugh, although Qui-Gon had frowned at the gift and its implications; Anakin’s friend and fellow Padawan Sian arrived next, with her Master in tow, a Twi’lek woman named Vernae Massi, and they came bearing a new tea set that Sian had made for them, a little lopsided but an enchanting shade of shimmering blue; finally, Mace arrived, frowning and holding a tall, thin end table with gentle, sweeping curves.

Looking  _ pointedly _ at Qui-Gon, Mace set the table down beside the purple  _ deneva _ plant that had not been moved from where he’d placed it earlier that week, bent down to pick up the plant, and then placed it on the table.

“It’s a plant stand,” Mace said tersely, folding his arms over his chest. Qui-Gon burst into a fit of laughter, only exacerbated by Mace’s glare. Finally, Mace simply sighed and shook his head.

When Qui-Gon’s laughter subsided, he gestured for Mace to join the gaggle of other Jedi. Sian, Anakin, and Asajj were all on the floor beside the couch, looking at the droid parts scattered on the caff table as Anakin excited chattered at them about how the repairs were going; Yoda was perched on the arm of the chair Yan was sitting in, each of them nursing a drink, speaking quietly with Ky, Bant, and Vernae who were sitting on the couch. Qui-Gon frowned, glancing around for Obi-Wan.

He saw him half-hidden in the shadow of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Qui-Gon turned to Mace, gesturing for him to help himself to the food and drink on offer, and then went to Obi-Wan’s side.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, jerking back slightly as though startled before giving him a small smile.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine. I just… wanted to get a good look at everyone. This was the best vantage point.”

“Oh?”

Obi-Wan hummed. “I wanted to remember this moment.”

That strange, unfathomable  _ grief _ that Obi-Wan carried with him flared for a moment in the Force before vanishing, replaced by contentment. Qui-Gon smiled and reached up to squeeze one of his shoulders.

“Come,” Qui-Gon said gently. “We should join them.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan agreed easily, his shoulders straightening from their slouch and stepping from the shadows. “It’s rude of me to neglect our guests.”

* * *

By the end of the night, it was only Mace, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Yan left, with Mace and Yan on the couch, Qui-Gon in one of the armchairs, and Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, leaning back against Qui-Gon’s legs. They had all drunk enough to be pleasantly buzzed and content to continue drinking for the moment. Bant had left first, having drawn the short straw on the nightshift in the Halls. Master Vernae had left shortly after, when Sian had started to drift off, gently shaking her awake and leading her out, still bleary-eyed. Anakin had fallen asleep face-down on the plush carpet Yoda had given them, and the old Master had smiled and patted his head before declaring that he, too, needed to get himself to bed. Obi-Wan had gently prodded his Padawan up, making sure he went to his bed before he regained any energy, or fell asleep on the floor again.

And that left the four of them, still drinking and speaking in low, soft tones, mindful not to rouse Anakin sleeping now just down the hall. Yan had grimaced at Qui-Gon when he’d taken a portion of the cacao and added the brandy to it, but Mace had seemed to think it was a wonderful idea. When Obi-Wan had wrinkled his nose at them, just a bit, Qui-Gon hid snorted at the look of approval Yan gave him.

His thoughts were pleasantly muddled, and it was only then that Qui-Gon remembered his promise, a random thought floating by that he managed to seize onto (distantly, Qui-Gon realized that he might be a bit more intoxicated than he’d thought). He turned to Yan, who raised an eyebrow at his suddenly thoughtful expression.

“Master Drallig visited earlier,” he said. “He asked for my help with a project.”

“Oh?” Yan asked warily, gently swirling his brandy in its crystal tumbler. Qui-Gon would not have had such an expensive, lavish thing in his possession had Yan not gifted him a set upon his Knighting. The glasses  _ were _ beautiful, but they had been shoved deep into his cabinets for years, and only after their reconciliation had they been used. Qui-Gon thought that the little flutter of  _ pleasure _ Yan had let slip through his shields at finding them one night had made holding onto them for several decades more than worth it.

“Yes. Apparently there is a group of some seven Corellian Jedi with injuries similar to my own, all students of Ataru looking to return to ‘saber work,” Qui-Gon explained. “They’ll be coming here next week, and Master Drallig suggested that I might help them. Given your help during my own recovery, I thought you might be willing to assist us.”

Qui-Gon had not been expecting a “yes,” although he thought that he would not be  _ surprised _ if Yan agreed. He was ready for everything, he had thought, up to and including a flat refusal.

He was not expecting Yan to go perfectly still, paling slightly, and then down the rest of his drink at once. He stood up, and declared, “Please excuse me. I… need some air.”

With that, Yan made his way to their balcony, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Qui-Gon blinked, frowning. “What…?”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll go after him.”

Mace looked… thoughtful, and a little sad, his lips pursed tight. Qui-Gon frowned at him. “What was that?”

Mace sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, both hands clasped around his drink as he stared down into it. “Qui-Gon… Have you ever noticed that Yan doesn’t spar with anyone but you or Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, a furrow forming in his brow as he thought. Yan had quite a reputation in the Temple as an expert swordsman--a well-earned reputation, certainly. He had proven himself time and again in the salles, and during Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship, there had been many Knights and Masters lining up to challenge him, and later on, Yan had delighted in showing off in front of Xanatos, pointedly reminding him that he was still a superior fighter to even Qui-Gon, who had developed a reputation of his own by then.

But, later… Later, Yan had spent so much time away from the Temple that Qui-Gon had barely had to put any effort into avoiding him. And he hadn’t returned to the Temple for any real length of time until… After Naboo. And since Naboo, Qui-Gon had not heard of a single bout, which had been strange, now that he noted the absence. Losing to Yan had long ago become a sort of… rite of passage, for young Knights and Senior Padawans who were a bit too full of themselves.

“I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” Qui-Gon finally answered. “Why won’t he?”

“It’s… complicated,” Mace sighed, hanging his head a little lower, his shoulders stiff.

“It’s that  _ Seeing _ , isn’t it?” Qui-Gon asked. Mace did not answer; his silence answered for him. “I am growing tired of this, and  _ severely annoyed _ by your decision to force yourselves to keep your silence. It is affecting all of you to this day, and something that large, a  _ Force event _ such as that, should not be kept secret. For  _ Force’s sake _ , Obi-Wan still doesn’t sleep well, and now you mean to tell me that Yan Dooku, one of the best ‘saber duelists in the Order, won’t so much as  _ spar _ ? I am being driven  _ mad _ , Mace, watching this affect the people I… am close to. And I can do  _ nothing _ . Please, Mace--if the Council won’t agree to making the contents of that vision public to the Order at large, at least consider making an exception for  _ me _ .”

Mace shook his head slowly. “It’s not that  _ simple _ , Qui-Gon. Knowing would… change things for you. You would look at… certain people differently. What they  _ need _ is the you that you have always been, and believe me when I say that you would never be able to look at some of us again without thinking about it.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if warding off a headache. “More importantly, there is too much at stake here. We can’t tell you, Qui-Gon. Not… not yet.”

Qui-Gon felt a flare of frustration, of  _ anger _ , and a flash of  _ red-and-deep-orange  _ passed through his sight. Slowly, he inhaled, and then exhaled, reaching for the Force. He let the emotions go, as much as he could. What was left was an impression of  _ burnt orange  _ bitterness. That would do, for now.

“Do you truly believe it is best that I not know?” he asked lowly.

“Yes,” Mace said, opening his eyes to meet Qui-Gon’s, his dark eyes intense and earnest. “For now. Someday, we will tell you everything. But not now. Not yet.”

Qui-Gon held his gaze for a long moment before nodding, his shoulder slumping slightly. “Alright. For now.”

Mace nodded, sinking back into the couch again, both of them sipping at their drinks. Finally, the balcony door slid open, and Obi-Wan entered, smiling slightly, and Yan after him. The elder man still looked a bit paler than usual, and his gaze was heavy as it rested on Qui-Gon, but there was something to the set of his shoulders that spoke of a familiar determination. It was comforting, in that moment, as it was just so… very like him.

Yan sighed. “I seem to have made your gathering morose.”

It was not quite an apology, but it was the closest he would get. Qui-Gon managed a smile for him. “It’s quite alright.”

Yan nodded stiffly. “As to your request, I will help you.”

He blinked, and then his smile grew more genuine. “I would be grateful for your assistance,” Qui-Gon said honestly, “but if you have your reasons for… deciding against it, then we will make do without you. You don’t have to do this.”

“I must,” Yan disagreed, voice like durasteel. “We will discuss the details later.”

Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment more, and then nodded, grinning broadly. “Thank you, Master.” As ever, he appreciated Yan’s pulse of  _ satisfaction  _ at the title, when it came from Qui-Gon in particular.

With another nod and a long, significant glance at Obi-Wan, Yan left. Mace left shortly after, and Qui-Gon knew that the  _ warning _ look he levelled at Obi-Wan was to caution him against telling Qui-Gon anything. Obi-Wan’s lips had pursed into a thin line, but he nodded curtly, and Mace was appeased.

The two of them began cleaning up in silence, both of them preoccupied by their heavy thoughts. Qui-Gon wondered about what had happened to them, what all of this could  _ mean _ , what could drive Yan, who had always taken such vicious joy in wiping the floor with his fellow Jedi, to simply… stop.

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan. There had come a time during his apprenticeship when their bond had been so strong, their knowledge of each other so complete, that Qui-Gon had been able to tell at a glance what was going through his mind, without having to check their bond.

He clenched his jaw as he realized that he had no idea now what Obi-Wan was thinking, and he hadn’t been able to  _ really  _ tell without the bond’s aid since Naboo.

For all that it was a beautiful planet, filled with the greenery that Qui-Gon so loved, and its people vibrant and peaceful, he was beginning to… not hate, he reminded himself, Jedi don’t hate, but… He was  _ severely annoyed _ by its existence, and all that had come of it.

* * *

The next morning, Obi-Wan was already gone when Qui-Gon woke, but Anakin was sitting on the floor in the living room, his bare toes wiggling in the plush carpet Yoda had given them. Qui-Gon smiled at him before blinking.

“Don’t you have classes this morning, Ani?”

“No,” Anakin said, shaking his head as he turned over the mouse droid in his hands again. He bit his lip. “I have a free day every Primeday.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon answered slowly. There was something…  _ off  _ about him this morning. He wondered if Anakin had been able to sense the change in atmosphere in the Force after Yan’s… whatever that had been. “Have you eaten yet?”

“‘M not hungry,” Anakin murmured. Qui-Gon studied him for a long moment before going over to sit in his armchair.

“What’s wrong, Ani?”

Anakin wouldn’t look at him, still staring down at the mouse droid. “I… really didn’t  _ mean _ to do it.”

“Do what?” Qui-Gon asked, his stomach sinking. The  _ last  _ time Anakin had said that, Qui-Gon had learned about the fighter he’d piloted to blow up the droid control ship in orbit around Naboo. That phrase did not bode well.

“I’ve been fixing the mouse droids from the lower levels,” Anakin said slowly. “And just… to make sure they’re good, before I let them out into the Temple, I let ‘em run here for a while before turning them loose, you know? And I’ve been upgrading them. Obi-Wan-- _ Master  _ Obi-Wan--” Qui-Gon’s lips twitched at the quick correction. “--is always complaining about how the Temple isn’t secure enough, so I thought giving them a hard drive and an extra audio input would be a good idea. It’s really easy, since they already have good optical ports, and--” Anakin stopped himself before he went into an off-topic rant about the mechanics of it all, and Qui-Gon almost smiled again until he shifted guiltily. “Anyway. I, um, there was one stuck on the balcony. And it recorded some stuff. From last night.”

“Did you watch it?” Qui-Gon asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. Anakin bit his lip and shrugged.

“A little bit? I didn’t know what it was, until I started watching. But… it seemed…  _ private _ , so I stopped after a couple seconds,” Anakin said, shifting guiltily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t want Obi-Wan to find out and be mad at me.”

“Do you still have the recording?” Anakin nodded, finally looking up at Qui-Gon, something hopeful in his expression, like he thought Qui-Gon would tell him how to fix this. Qui-Gon gave him a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you give it to me, and I will take care of it?”

Anakin’s expression turned  _ suspicious _ . “Are  _ you _ gonna watch it?”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “I will give it to Mace.”

Slowly, Anakin nodded, relaxing again, and he grabbed a spanner to unscrew the bottom of the deactivated mouse droid, pulling out the hard drive and handing it over to Qui-Gon, looking relieved.

“Thanks, Master Qui-Gon,” he said, and then bit his lip again. “Are you gonna tell Master Obi-Wan?”

“Well, it seems to me that Obi-Wan already knows about this project,” Qui-Gon said slowly, “so why would I need to tell him?” He winked, and Anakin’s smile was broad and happy.

“Thank you!” Anakin said, and Qui-Gon nodded, slipping the hard drive into one of his pockets.

“You’re very welcome, Ani. Now, why don’t we find us both some breakfast, hmm? I heard the refectory in the South Tower is serving fried tubercakes this morning.”

Anakin nodded eagerly, jumping up and running off to his bedroom to find his boots. Qui-Gon palmed the hard drive through his tunic and smiled to himself.

He  _ would _ turn it over to Mace-- _ after _ he had watched it. Anakin had not caught the technicality, that he had never actually promised  _ not to _ \--and they would have to work on that, eventually; with all of the negotiation assignments they were sent on, that was precisely the sort of tricky language Anakin would need to learn.

But Qui-Gon was  _ tired _ of being kept in the dark, and he knew himself well enough to admit that he could not resist this temptation. Surely such an opportunity could not be overlooked--Jedi, after all, did not believe in  _ coincidence _ , only the guiding hand of the Force. Clearly, the Force  _ meant _ for that mouse droid to be there, and for Qui-Gon to have this footage. If he could not be told by those affected, he would find out what was happening another way.

His course decided, Qui-Gon’s smile widened even further as Anakin emerged from his bedroom, his tunics a little straighter and his boots in place, looking brighter and radiating sheer  _ relief _ . Taking his hand, Qui-Gon led them from their quarters and down to the dining hall. He would watch it at the earliest opportunity, when he could find a moment alone.

* * *

In the end, Qui-Gon had to escape to the Archives to view the footage. He had not had a moment alone at all; with Anakin out of classes that day, he remained in their quarters until Obi-Wan was finished with his… Qui-Gon frowned as he realized he still did not actually  _ know _ what Obi-Wan did all day. He was infuriatingly good at changing the subject; Qui-Gon had obviously taught him too well. Just another question to add to his ever-growing list, he supposed. He pushed the thought away and connected the hard drive to the dataviewer in the study room he had commandeered, and then locked.

He watched as the mouse droid’s recording showed Yan’s appearance on the balcony, and Qui-Gon spared a second to appreciate the quality of the video; Anakin had done a superb job at retrofitting the little droid. Only a few moments later, Obi-Wan joined him. Yan stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, and Obi-Wan walked over to lean against the railing, resting his forearms on it. For a while, they stood in silence, until Obi-Wan broke it.

“Are you a Jedi?” he asked, voice calm but firm. “Or aren’t you?”

Yan stiffened, and Qui-Gon frowned at the odd question. “That is the question, is it not?”

“Only to you,” Obi-Wan answered, shaking his head. “You’ve been… You’re acting as though you need to perform some sort of  _ penance _ .”

“Don’t I?” Yan asked flatly.

“Perhaps, from a certain point of view,” Obi-Wan sighed. “But from another… From  _ my _ point of view, you had a vision showing you the absolute worst possibility. It showed you what you  _ could _ become, and instead of surrendering to it, instead of  _ Falling _ \--” Yan flinched; Qui-Gon felt a horrible sense of realization beginning to grow in his stomach. “--you rose above it. You decided that you would  _ not _ .”

“It happened,” Yan snapped, heat beginning to enter his voice, no longer quite as steady, as level. “We all bear the proof of that.”

“Yes, it did. But I think of it as… reincarnation,” Obi-Wan said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “This  _ is _ a different life, and you are not Darth Tyranus. So who are you, Yan Dooku? Are you a Jedi, or aren’t you?”

They lapsed into silence again, and Qui-Gon could tell from the set of Yan’s jaw, from the smallest of furrows between his brows, that he was contemplating the question.

A beat later, his mind caught up with Obi-Wan’s words:  _ Darth Tyranus.  _ The name of a  _ Sith Lord _ , given to his  _ Master _ .

Finally, Yan grimaced and shook his head. “I am trying to be.”

Obi-Wan nodded decisively. “Then  _ help _ . I know about that vow you made, and I understand why you would promise never to raise your ‘saber against another Jedi, but you have already made exceptions to it. To spar with someone is not at all the same as trying to kill them, Grand-Master, and surely even you can recognize that.” His tone took on an edge of fond exasperation, and Yan huffed lightly. 

When Yan didn’t reply, Obi-Wan shook his head. Lower, he said, “You know what we’re facing. None of them are ready. You can help us, and if you  _ are _ a Jedi, then that is your duty, is it not?”

Slowly, Yan straightened, and that same determination and almost  _ defiance _ that had so comforted Qui-Gon now seemed… disturbing.

“It is.”

Obi-Wan turned to him, his back to the droid so that Qui-Gon could not see his expression. Whatever Yan saw there, his lips twitched in a valiant effort at a smile, though it vanished quickly. Obi-Wan nodded, and the two went inside, the mouse droid scurrying in after them, just barely avoiding having the door closed on it.

Qui-Gon disconnected the hard drive, staring down at it in his hands for a long moment. Perhaps Mace had been right. What he had just heard--the  _ implications _ of what he had just heard… Perhaps he shouldn’t have this knowledge.

Qui-Gon certainly  _ wished  _ he didn’t, anyway.

* * *

Qui-Gon had intended to keep his word, and give the drive to Mace, but he knew that it would require an explanation. He also knew that he would not be able to lie, or feign ignorance convincingly--not that Mace would ever believe that he hadn’t watched it. They both knew he was in the habit of sticking his nose where it did not strictly belong.

Instead--only for now, he promised himself, because he did  _ not _ want to watch that again, so there was no real need to keep it--he carefully took his small wooden box out from beneath his bed. It was plain, with no lock--such protection was not needed in the Temple, for no other Jedi would invade another’s privacy. Removing the lid, his fingers brushed only briefly over the little tokens inside: a small lock of Tahl’s curly, dark hair; a single bead from Xanatos’s Padawan braid he had managed to salvage; a string of dark, wooden meditation beads that had once been Micah’s; another single bead from Feemor’s Padawan braid--and oh, how he regretted burning the rest of it. These were the memories of people who were lost to him, either to rejoin the Force, or to the ravages of time and old hurts.

But Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid had not been relegated to this box, shoved beneath the bed, held too close to dispose of, but too far away to be able to look at each day. No, Obi-Wan’s braid, the neatly cut and still-braided length, was kept inside a pouch on his utility belt, just as he knew Obi-Wan still kept the river stone Qui-Gon had given him on his thirteenth birthday in his own belt.

Slowly, Qui-Gon put the hard drive down atop his little momentos, closed the lid, and slid the box back into place.

He needed to meditate, now more than ever.

* * *

It was already late when Qui-Gon reached his favorite meditation spot in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was a ways away from any of the ponds, although he could hear the distant rush of the largest waterfall still; vibrantly green grass spread out around a large tree; the tree itself had grown for a long, long time, and it was not straight, instead twisting as it grew, its branches and roots radiating around it in wonderfully organic, gnarled combinations, and its leaves were a beautiful combination of greens and deep blues.

Slowly, he sank down beneath the tree, finding a comfortable spot beneath the roots, and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Qui-Gon reached for the Force, his breathing slowing, his awareness reaching beyond his body and to the garden around him. He felt the grass around him, the roots and reaching limbs and leaves of the tree beside him, the joyful rush of the waterfall beyond that.

From this viewpoint, it was far easier for him to separate his emotions, which was precisely the perspective he needed at that moment.

Yan Dooku, Qui-Gon’s Master, had Fallen. He had become a  _ Sith Lord _ .

That revelation was still the most difficult to fathom. He had  _ known _ , of course, that Yan struggled with the Order, and with his place in it. They had become too stifled by old traditions that had served their purpose, and now served no other than to act as chains, keeping the Order from returning to what it had once been. After Galidraan, after he had acted as a “mindless executioner” in his own words, on nothing more than the orders of the Senate, Yan had become… disillusioned with the Order. Playthings of the Senate, he had called them all. Nothing more than powerful puppets.

But even though Qui-Gon had seen all of that in him, before Yan had retreated to the Outer Rim, as far away as he could get from the reach of the Senate, and they hadn’t spoken for that long stretch of years, he never would have thought Yan capable of  _ Falling _ , let alone becoming a  _ Sith _ .

And Obi-Wan had said it so  _ casually _ , so  _ flatly _ . “Darth Tyranus” had tumbled from his lips as though he said it every  _ day _ , as though it were  _ nothing _ .

Qui-Gon knew that he could go around and around in circles on this train of thought, his head spinning as he tried to understand it. He breathed deeply, in and out, setting it aside for now. He had more pressing concerns.

One particular concern was the most pressing: what was the chance that he would Fall again, in  _ this _ lifetime?

He had seen the pain on Yan’s face when Obi-Wan had so flatly asked him “are you a Jedi, or aren’t you?” He had heard Obi-Wan reference some vow he had made, never to raise a lightsaber against another Jedi (never  _ again _ , Qui-Gon supposed, a shiver running down his spine, soothed by the gentle touch of the Force a moment later). He had heard Yan’s quiet declaration: “I am trying to be.”

Here and now, Yan  _ was _ a Jedi. But… the Sith were still out there. Qui-Gon knew it, Obi-Wan knew it, the Council all knew it, although they rarely spoke publicly about it. Sith always came in pairs: a Master, and an Apprentice. Thanks to Obi-Wan, they had learned that Darth Maul had been the Apprentice, and someone named Darth Sidious was the Master (and the missions he had taken to confirm that… Qui-Gon had not been permitted to go with him, Obi-Wan taking these secretive assignments between those they went on together, and he often returned wounded, or at least pale, thin, and tired, with dark bruises beneath both eyes. Qui-Gon’s heart ached every time he had to let him go). But if they knew who Darth Sidious truly was, they had not shared his identity with anyone else.

And so the Sith remained, somewhere out there in the galaxy. And while the Sith remained, there was a chance that Yan  _ would _ Fall.

Hels, there was a chance he would Fall even if the Sith were eliminated.

But… did that really  _ change _ anything? Qui-Gon himself had almost Fallen more times than he cared to dwell on. When he had faced Xanatos that final time, when Tahl had… when Tahl had died, in front of his eyes, he had felt so much  _ rage _ , and only the soothing, determined, perpetually  _ Light _ presence of Obi-Wan beside him both times had kept Qui-Gon anchored. But it proved Qui-Gon’s point: they  _ all _ had the potential for a Fall, and that potential was only amplified so long as the Sith survived.

_ Keep your focus here and now, Jinn _ , he scolded himself.

Here and now, Obi-Wan clearly trusted Yan. Qui-Gon knew how often he had left Anakin alone with Yan, and if Obi-Wan trusted him with his Padawan, then that said he trusted Yan at least as much as he trusted Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon suddenly remembered their first conversation with him, after Naboo. “My Grand-Master has been changed by recent events. Between the loss of Master Sifo-Dyas, and your injury… I believe it caused him to examine more deeply the relationships he  _ does  _ have within the Order,” Obi-Wan had said. At the time, Qui-Gon had not known that Yan had been affected by the same visions Obi-Wan had Mace had. He had thought Sifo-Dyas and the return of the Sith to be Yan’s motivation.

But he also remembered how Obi-Wan had pushed the two together, how he had encouraged Yan to seek out Yoda’s company, and even Mace’s, and how he had brought back his old friend Ky Narec. He was clearly trying to help him create more ties to the Order.

Finally, Qui-Gon came to the conclusion that this  _ didn’t _ change anything. Here and now, in  _ this _ moment, Yan was a Jedi Master, and not a Sith Lord. He supposed, if anything, this was simply… a warning, a signal to watch Yan more closely, to keep an eye out for any warning signs. But he had seemed determined enough, in that conversation Qui-Gon had never been meant to see or hear, not to Fall. Almost too cautious--Qui-Gon’s stomach sank as he realized Yan might already be acting out of  _ fear _ .

But he could not hold it against Yan, Qui-Gon decided. If  _ he _ were suddenly confronted with an entire lifetime’s worth of knowledge that included  _ himself _ not just Falling, but joining the ranks of the  _ Sith _ , Qui-Gon would be afraid. He would be afraid of himself, just as he had seen Yan now was. Releasing  _ that _ sort of fear was the work of a lifetime. Not all of them could be Obi-Wan, who had promised with all the sincere determination of a child that he would never Fall. Even if they did  _ make _ such a promise, not all of them could keep it, not like Obi-Wan could, not like Qui-Gon somehow  _ knew _ that he would. For many Jedi who actually went out into the field, on missions, seeing the best and worst of the galaxy, it was the work of a lifetime simply to remain within the Light.

How could he condemn Yan for such a struggle? Especially when, from Qui-Gon’s own perspective, at least, he  _ hadn’t _ Fallen?

Finally, Qui-Gon felt the Force wrap around him, warm and bright. It was settled, then: Yan was his Master, as he had always been, and he was a Jedi. Qui-Gon resolved to continue to treat him as such, and--he felt a flutter of chagrin--he also resolved not to pry any more into the matter of those alternate lives.

He truly  _ didn’t _ want to know, not if it led to revelations like  _ this _ .

Slowly, Qui-Gon exhaled once more, feeling the worst of his doubt fade away. It would take more than one meditation to reconcile himself to this new knowledge, he realized, but he had made a good start.

His eyes flew open as he felt the familiar, sharp  _ thwack  _ of a stick against his shin. Wincing, he narrowed his eyes at Yoda, looking back at him with a gentle smile that belied the strike.

“Master,” Qui-Gon greeted him, nodding. Dimly, he noticed that it was morning already, light streaming in through the tall glass dome that covered the garden. Though he could see no one else, he could sense the lights of other Jedi beginning to fill the space.

“Long in meditation, you were,” Yoda hummed. “Miss breakfast, you did. Worried, your Padawans were.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at Yoda’s use of the plural, a protest that Anakin was  _ not _ his Padawan on the tip of his tongue, but Yoda’s eyes narrowed, and his hand twitched around his stick, and Qui-Gon slumped slightly with a defeated sigh. Yoda nodded, looking pleased.

“Centered again, are you?” Yoda asked, and Qui-Gon nodded.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good,” Yoda declared. “Good. Your balance, you will need. Coming, many  _ changes _ are.” He looked a bit… manically  _ gleeful _ , and Qui-Gon tried to resist the urge to frown. Yoda cackled at him outright, then, his ears flicking upwards.

“What changes, Master?”

“Know yet, I do not.  _ Making _ these changes, I will not be. To see the Council, you will come, after mid-meal,” Yoda ordered, his eyes glittering.

“Of course, Master. Thank you.”

Yoda nodded, fixing him with another  _ impish _ look, his smile a little  _ too  _ kind and his eyes glittering. “Breakfast, you missed. Eat, you must.”

_ Oh no _ . “...of course, Master. I will return to my quarters--”

“Feed you, I will,” Yoda interrupted him breezily. “Stew there is, in my quarters. Come, come.” He stood, gesturing for Qui-Gon to follow, and he quickly pushed away his grimace, his face becoming a blank mask of serenity. Yoda wasn’t fooled in the slightest, Qui-Gon knew, but even as old as he was, even as a  _ Master _ in his own right, Qui-Gon would never tell Master Yoda to his face that his stew was  _ terrible _ .

Besides, he knew that he was even worse in the kitchen, so what right did he have to complain?

Resigned to his fate, Qui-Gon rose to his feet and followed after his Grand-Master.

* * *

Qui-Gon was not alone when he came before the Council. He saw Obi-Wan, waiting outside the double doors, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe, having an animated discussion with an unfamiliar Jedi, a tall human or near-human man with white hair. He looked relatively young, though certainly older than Obi-Wan.

“Ah, Master! There you are,” Obi-Wan called, and Qui-Gon smiled reflexively. It had been two years already, since his Knighting, but even still, Obi-Wan tended to default to his title in public. As he approached, Qui-Gon paused to bow to the stranger.

“You must be Master Jinn, I take it?” the unfamiliar Jedi said, giving him a warm smile and a not-so-subtle evaluating glance.

“I am. And you are…?”

“Djinn Altis,” the man introduced himself, bowing in return. Qui-Gon’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh dear,” Qui-Gon said. “I have heard of you. The Council summoning both of us at once? That does not bode well.”

Master Altis threw his head back and laughed heartily. “No, it doesn’t. We can only trust in the Force, and hope that they don’t mean to chuck us both out in one go.”

Qui-Gon snorted, and Obi-Wan shook his head, a small smile tugging at his own lips.

“I doubt it,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon turned to him.

“Were you summoned as well?”

“Yes, but my appointment is after yours,” he said with a shrug.

“And where is Anakin? His classes must be over by now.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He’s with Yan. I finally got him to agree to work on Anakin’s katas.” Qui-Gon felt a strange flutter of mingled hope and affection along with the strangest feeling of  _ dread _ , probably due to the heavy weight of the knowledge of what Yan was, what he could be--

He wasn’t given long to dwell on it as the doors opened. Obi-Wan gave him a warm smile and moved to take a seat in one of the chairs kept outside the Chamber. Qui-Gon nodded to him and made his way into the Chamber.

As both of them were Masters, Altis and Qui-Gon stood side-by-side in the center of the circle, bowing in unison.

“Master Jinn, Master Altis,” Mace began, nodding back. “We requested the two of you in the hopes that you would agree to help this Council with a… project.” He gestured to Qui-Gon. “Master Jinn, I understand Master Drallig already approached you about helping a few of our injured fellows from the Corellian Temple.” Qui-Gon nodded. “They will not be coming alone.

“The Corellian Temple, the Temple of Eedit on Devaron, the Temple of Dantooine, and the Temple of the Kyber on Jedha will all be sending representatives to us. They will arrive next week,” Mace said, and Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. Beside him, he could feel Altis release a similar feeling into the Force around them.

“And this project would be…?” Altis asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“Contrary to what you may believe, we  _ do _ listen to you,” Mace said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips before his expression smoothed. Qui-Gon laughed, and Altis snorted, shaking his head. “The Order is… stagnating. Our numbers are only a fraction of what they were before the Reformation, and we have fewer and fewer Padawans being Claimed, and in turn graduating to Knights each year. We feel that there must be more of us, to counter the growing Darkness of the galaxy, and that change must begin now.

“To that end, we hope to form a closer relationship with the other Temples. Their representatives are coming to form a committee, and the aim of that committee is to work together to determine how we can all change, to become stronger together. What the Council is asking of you is that you two represent the Coruscant Temple.”

Qui-Gon was not just surprised by that, he was  _ shocked _ . He exchanged startled glances with Altis, both of their eyes wide, perfect mirror images. It was not  _ just _ that Qui-Gon was surprised that they would ask  _ him _ and Altis--a man who had, since his Knighting, been gunning for Qui-Gon’s spot as the most controversial Jedi in the Coruscant Temple--to represent them. Qui-Gon was also shocked that they had finally seemed to see reason and acknowledge that certain elements of their traditions should be changed.

Qui-Gon focused his attention on the Councilors again, noting Yoda’s unabashed smile, the sheer  _ excitement  _ and  _ glee _ he was radiating in the Force, and realized that he felt only anticipation from them--there was no expectation, no pressure. He found his answer came easily.

“I would be happy to accept, Masters,” Qui-Gon said, bowing his head. “And I am honored to have been asked.”

“I will also do my part,” Altis said, a teasing grin making its way across his face as he added, “however unexpected this vote of confidence may be.”

Many of the Councilors smothered laughs at that, but not Yoda, who chuckled loudly. Mace shook his head, a smile on his face again.

“Thank you. The other representatives will begin arriving over the next few days. Once they have all arrived, we will coordinate the details with you,” Mace said.

“Thank you, Masters,” both Qui-Gon and Altis said in unison, bowing again.

“May the Force be with you,” Mace said, something like hope in his voice that Qui-Gon did not want to examine too closely.

When he passed Obi-Wan, making his way out with Altis just behind him as Obi-Wan was headed in, his former Padawan gave him a gentle, knowing smile and a nod. Qui-Gon wondered if this had ever happened  _ Before _ , and decided he really didn’t want to know. He’d learned his lesson about prying into that other time.

* * *

Obi-Wan had not yet returned from his meeting with the Council when the door to their quarters opened and Anakin entered, followed by Yan. Qui-Gon looked up from the datapad he’d been reading, a summary on all of the changes made to the Order during the Reformation and since, giving them both a smile as Anakin ran to hug him, as he always did.

“How was your lesson, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin’s eyes lit up.

“It was so  _ wizard _ !” he said enthusiastically. “Master Yan is really,  _ really _ good. I can’t believe I’d never seen him use his ‘saber before!” Trying to whisper and not quite-managing it because of his lingering excitement, Anakin added, “Even if he  _ is _ a really tough teacher, I had a lot of fun. And I think I learned a lot.”

Qui-Gon glanced up at Yan, who was pretending not to have heard, and he grinned. “That’s wonderful, Ani. Now, Obi-Wan isn’t back yet, so it’s looking like we’re off to the refectory for dinner. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”

“‘Kay!” Anakin agreed easily, scampering off to the ‘fresher. Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head at the boy’s energy and enthusiasm before turning to Yan.

“How was it?” Qui-Gon asked.

“It went well enough,” Yan said. “He is a bright child, although he has far more energy than I recall even you having at that age.”

Qui-Gon laughed, shaking his head. He leaned forward to set the datapad on the table. “Would you care to join us for dinner?”

Yan raised an eyebrow. “If that is the case, I will simply cook here,” he sniffed, and Qui-Gon chuckled. Due to his complete inability to cook for himself, Qui-Gon had never had a problem with the food served in the refectory, although Obi-Wan had never been fond of it, and Yan shared his aversion. “I’m certain Obi-Wan will have something I can manage.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said. “I would offer to help, but…”

Yan raised an eyebrow at him. “These are not my quarters, and I technically have no power to ban you from the kitchen; though I doubt it will come to that, as you do not seem eager to try your hand again.” He made his way toward the kitchen, checking their cupboards and cooling unit before beginning to pull several packets out onto the counters. “What did the Council want with you?”

“Ah, that,” Qui-Gon said, blinking. The mere thought of it still sent his mind spinning. “They’re forming a committee, and they asked that I join them, along with Djinn Altis.”

“I hope they realize what they have set upon themselves,” Yan said lightly, and Qui-Gon snorted.

“Yes, we said much the same.” He shook his head. “The other representatives are from several of the other Temples. Apparently our Council has finally seen how stagnant we have become, and they’ve asked us to propose solutions.”

“Have they now?” Yan asked, his voice filled with no little wonder.

“They have. It’s a vague assignment, but I think they intended that,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully. “They don’t want to narrow the scope of our suggestions, though how many of them they’ll actually accept remains to be seen.”

“I see. Come here, please.” Qui-Gon frowned, but moved to join Yan in the kitchen. Yan handed him a cutting board and a handful of leafy green herbs, gesturing towards their knife block. “Even you can chop something.”

Qui-Gon laughed and shook his head, but set the cutting board on the counter and grabbed a knife, slowly beginning to pare down the herbs. They worked in companionable silence, only interrupted when Anakin emerged from the ‘fresher, face scrubbed pink and his still-drying hair standing up on end.

“I thought we were going to the dining hall…?” Anakin asked, trailing off and biting his lip.

“Yan offered to make dinner for us,” Qui-Gon explained.

“Oh, that’s… nice,” Anakin said, squirming a little. “But um… will it be safe to eat?”

“Is my cooking truly so terrible, young one?” Yan asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at Anakin, who flushed deeply.

“No! No, it’s good, I just… Master Qui-Gon is helping?” Qui-Gon and Yan exchanged glances, and then Qui-Gon burst out laughing.

“My reputation must be  _ terrible _ ,” Qui-Gon said through his chuckles, and Anakin tentatively grinned up at him.

“Well, Master Obi-Wan did tell me about the time you tried to make him a cake for his birthday,” Anakin said. “He appreciated that you  _ tried _ , but he didn’t really like having to eat in the refectory for the next week while the oven got replaced.”

“I had almost forgotten about that,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. “Here, Ani. You’re much better at this than I am--why don’t you take over for me, and I’ll set the table?”

“‘Kay!” Anakin agreed easily, jumping up to take the knife from him. Yan pursed his lips, watching Anakin begin to carefully chop the herbs before deciding that he knew well enough what he was doing and turning back to his own task. Qui-Gon smiled at the two of them and then took the dishes from the cabinet, moving over to set the table.

“Is Master Obi-Wan still with the Council?” Anakin asked, frowning.

“Yes, he is.”

Anakin glanced at the chrono on his wrist and then sighed. “He’s been there for a long time.”

“He has,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“Do you know what they’re talking about?”

“No, Ani, I don’t,” Qui-Gon sighed.

“I sense they may be a while yet,” Yan hummed, his own spark of prescience rearing its head. “We should get started. We shall set some aside for him.” Anakin nodded, pouting a bit and falling silent for the rest of the time it took to make the meal, a delicious stir-fry.

Conversation over dinner itself was subdued, and Qui-Gon finally sighed when he saw Anakin pushing his food around more than eating it.

“Long Council meetings are not unusual, Ani,” he reassured the boy. Anakin bit his lip.

“It’s just… Master Obi-Wan feels so…  _ prickly _ right now. I think they’re arguing,” Anakin said. Qui-Gon chuckled.

“I have argued with the Council many times, little one, and it has always turned out alright.” Yan raised an eyebrow at him, no doubt remembering the time he had landed himself a three-month censure, and then arguing with the Council had extended it to five months. Yan had mentioned it each time they spoke for the next year after that.

“Yeah, I know, but I feel like he’s going to have to leave soon,” Anakin said. Qui-Gon frowned.

“He’s meant to be here in the Temple for a time, for the two of you to acclimate to your partnership,” Yan said smoothly. “I doubt the Council will give him a mission this soon, especially one that you would not be permitted to accompany him on.”

Anakin brightened somewhat, managing a smile, and more of his food began to make it to his mouth. Qui-Gon shot Yan a grateful smile, and Yan nodded slightly back before glancing away at Obi-Wan’s empty seat. Qui-Gon wondered idly if Yan had ever known Anakin in that other lifetime--it was unlikely, he decided, if Yan had… left the Order.

Finally, just as they were finishing up, Obi-Wan arrived. He looked… tired, but managed a smile for the three of them.

“Obi!” Anakin cried, forgetting the title along with the second syllable of Obi-Wan’s name. Obi-Wan’s smile grew a bit more genuine as Anakin shot up from the table, running over to hug him. He barreled into Obi-Wan, who simply wrapped his arms around him in return. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ani,” he laughed. “I promise. The Council doesn’t bite.” Anakin giggled as though this were some sort of inside joke between them, nodding and squeezing for another brief moment before reluctantly letting Obi-Wan go.

“We cooked dinner,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“That was very thoughtful of you, but I think I’ll save it for now.” Yan exchanged a  _ look  _ with Qui-Gon, both of them knowing that Obi-Wan tended to lose his appetite when his thoughts were too full. Wordlessly, Yan stood and began clearing their plates, Qui-Gon moving to help him a moment later.

Obi-Wan allowed Anakin to steer them both to the couch where he was forced to sit, Anakin climbing half into his lap. “How was ‘saber practice?”

“Master Yan is so  _ fast,  _ I could barely keep up!” Anakin said, and with that, he was off, chattering excitedly about what Yan had shown him in the salles, barely stopping to breathe. After a while, Obi-Wan shifted them so that Anakin’s back was to him, undoing his braid to smooth it out and re-braid it, the action soothing both of them as Anakin spoke.

Finally, Anakin began to trail off, pausing to yawn more and more frequently, his body slumping back until he was pressed against Obi-Wan’s chest. With a small, fond smile, Obi-Wan gently nudged him awake and sent him to bed.

Yan and Qui-Gon had finished cleaning up the kitchen by that point, and in silent but mutual agreement, pulled out the brandy and the crystal glasses, pouring for themselves and for Obi-Wan. When he emerged from the hallway to their bedrooms after ensuring Anakin made it to bed, he blinked at them, and then smiled, taking the drink. Qui-Gon gestured to the couch, and Obi-Wan nodded, retaking his seat as Qui-Gon and Yan settled themselves in the armchairs.

“What did the Council want with you?” Qui-Gon asked, echoing Yan’s earlier question to him. He kept his voice light and curious, trying to stifle his worry from shining through, knowing that it would serve only to make Obi-Wan feel guilty in turn. He still disliked being fussed over.

Obi-Wan snorted, taking a sip of the brandy. “It’s more what I wanted with the Council,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he continued to stare at the drink he held in both hands before quickly glancing at Yan, frowning. “Jango Fett contacted me today.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

Yan stiffened, and carefully said, “I had heard rumors that your time on Tatooine was not all that it appeared to be.”

“Well, that much is true,” Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to run one hand through his hair, mussing it. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “Jango was in on the plan from the start. Pretending to turn me in for the bounty was the easiest way to get us into Jabba’s court.” He looked at Yan again. “He’s a good man.”

Yan did not reply, so Qui-Gon took up the conversation again. “What did he have to say?”

“I made him a promise,” Obi-Wan said slowly, a flush beginning to creep over his face, “the first time we met. He was calling to collect.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “What sort of promise?”

Obi-Wan looked back down at his drink. “I offered my… assistance with  _ Kyr’tsad _ ’s leaders. It is a promise that I fully intend to keep, but the Council was… less than pleased by my decision.”

“I can imagine so,” Yan said flatly, “considering the last time the Order intervened in Mandalorian affairs.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed, swirling the brandy around before downing a large portion. He looked Yan in the eye. “Not to reopen that particular wound, Grand-Master, but the  _ last _ time was orchestrated by  _ Kyr’tsad _ . And they went unpunished for it. Since then, their power has only grown, doubly so since the Senate failed to impose any  _ meaningful _ consequences for their ally’s actions in recent years.”

“Their ally?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning thoughtfully.

“The Trade Federation,” Obi-Wan sighed. “They’ve been funding  _ Kyr’tsad _ for years. Not that I’m terribly  _ surprised _ that the Senate failed to act, given that they’re all just  _ puppets-- _ ”

“Obi-Wan,” Yan cut him off smoothly, raising an eyebrow in warning. Obi-Wan pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair again. Qui-Gon quietly wondered what he had been about to say, but also how stressed he probably was, to let even that much slip. He was normally more careful than this.

“The Trade Federation is obviously connected to the Sith,” Qui-Gon said, sinking back into his chair as he thought the problem through. “They would not have been working with a Sith assassin on Naboo if they were not. But why would the Sith have an interest in Death Watch?”

“We should not be discussing this,” Yan warned them. Obi-Wan waved a hand.

“All of this can be deduced through simple logic,” he sighed. “We aren’t saying anything we shouldn’t be.” Yan sat back, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon. “We all know that Mandalore was traditionally allied with the Sith, but since the Clan Wars, they’ve been moving in a different direction--a more peaceful direction, and one that has made them more likely to work with the Order, or at least feel neutrally about us. The Sith’s numbers are far fewer than our own, and an army of well-trained commandos who are known to be quite effective against Force-users would be a great threat to them. By allying themselves with  _ Kyr’tsad _ , they’re seeking to neutralize the threat to themselves while increasing the threat to  _ us _ .”

Qui-Gon frowned, blinking at Obi-Wan. He was right, of course--all of that made perfect sense. “So why does the Council disagree? I would think that they would recognize the threat as you have.”

“They agree that it  _ is _ a threat,” Obi-Wan said, slumping back on the couch, “they simply disagreed with how I proposed to go about it. They questioned my… motivations.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow again, thinking of Satine Kryze, and the way Obi-Wan had looked at her, and the faint thrill of  _ fear _ Qui-Gon had felt. He had almost thought that Obi-Wan would choose to remain behind, to stay on Mandalore to be with the Duchess. “And why is that?”

“Stop this,” Yan ordered, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“He’s right. I really shouldn’t say any more,” he said softly. “But what I can tell you is that I  _ did _ get them to agree, in the end. I’ll be leaving next week. Would the two of you be willing to watch Anakin for me? I hate to leave him so soon, but there’s no way I would bring him into this. He’s far too young, yet.”

Yan and Qui-Gon exchanged  _ looks _ , and Qui-Gon knew that they were both thinking of how relieved Anakin had been when Yan had assured him that Obi-Wan was unlikely to be sent away so soon on a mission.

“Of course,” Yan agreed. “Qui-Gon will have his committee taking up much of his time, but it should be possible to schedule our other project for the time he is in classes. We will look after him.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan looked more exhausted than he had when he’d first walked in, and he drained the rest of his drink in silence.

“Go to bed,” Qui-Gon ordered, and Obi-Wan gave him a fond look, a smile tugging at his lips. He bowed his head.

“Yes,  _ Master _ . Goodnight.” He paused to nod to Yan, still smiling softly. “Grand-Master.”

As soon as Obi-Wan was out of the room, Qui-Gon huffed and slumped in his chair. Anakin was going to have a  _ fit  _ about this.

And he wasn’t exactly fond of this mission either. From what Obi-Wan had said, Qui-Gon had a feeling this was going to be dangerous--well, more dangerous than their usual missions, anyway. His stomach sank as he realized that, yet again, Obi-Wan was going where he could not follow, and there would be nothing he could do to keep him  _ safe _ .

“I’m having another,” Qui-Gon announced, holding up his now-empty glass. “Would you like one?”

Yan snorted and held out his glass. “I suppose my Grand-Padawan is driving us  _ both  _ to drink tonight.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. “He does that, from time to time.”


	8. Jango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm so sorry that I still haven't had a chance to respond to everyone's comments. I've been working 6 days a week, and we're back in the office now. Everything is just... bananas. It's all I can manage to keep writing for this story, when I can find the time! Someday, I promise I will reply, but in the meantime, please know that I do read all of them, and they are such a fantastic help to get me through my day. <3 Thank you to everyone who's left a comment, kudos, bookmarked the story, and subscribed!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> mandokarla: having the "right stuff," what makes a Mandalorian  
> Kyr'tsad: Death Watch  
> mhi ade: our children  
> ad'ika: affectionate form of son/daughter, basically like "kiddo"  
> gar ba'vodu: your aunt/uncle (aunt in this case, but like the rest of Mando'a, this is gender neutral)  
> 'Lek: short for elek, yes  
> Kaminiise: Kaminoans (singular Kaminii)  
> Jetii: Jedi  
> K'oyacyi, ner Mand'alor: Stay alive, my king. (K'oyacyi is also used to mean "cheers")  
> Shm'ika: 'ika is added to the end of a name to form an affectionate nickname, much like with "ad'ika"  
> Manda'yaim: the planet Mandalore itself  
> Vor entye: Thank you  
> beskar'gam: Mandalorian armor  
> Jetii'kad: lightsaber, lit. Jedi sword  
> Resol'nare: The Six Actions, tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> beskar: Mandalorian iron  
> Haat Mando'ade: True Mandalorians  
> Kyr'tsad cuyi dar'manda: Death Watch are no longer Mandalorian. (Dar'manda is the worst thing you can call a Mandalorian; they believe that you have become soulless if you are dar'manda)  
> cin vhetin: lit. white field, a clean slate  
> cetare: boots  
> Nayc, vor'e: No, thanks  
> dar'buir: no longer a parent, renounced by their children (here used to refer to an abusive parent)  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Mando'ade: Mandalorians, lit. children of Mandalore  
> Mand'alor, bal gar burc'ya!: King, and your friend!  
> Haili cetare!: lit. fill your boots, used to mean eat up  
> tiingilar: Mandalorian stew, said to be very spicy  
> Tihaar: Strong fruit-based Mandalorian liquor  
> buir: parent  
> haryc b'aalyc: tired and emotional, euphemism for drunk  
> Dha Werda Verda: ancient Mandalorian war chant/poem, speaks of Taung conquest  
> Jorad'alor: Speaker for the people  
> Su'cuy: Hi! Shortened form of Su cuy'gar  
> Vode'an: Brothers all  
> Kyr'tsad hu'tuun'e: Death Watch cowards  
> Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: It's the title again! ;) Today is a good day for someone else to die.  
> Haar'chak!: Dammit!  
> Dah'Beskad: The Darksaber

Shmi was angry with him. Jango had known that she would be, of course. She truly was  _ mandokarla _ , and being told that she would have to remain behind while he went to fight  _ Kyr’tsad _ was galling to her.

But Jango had no choice. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Shmi capable--he had taught her well, and she had learned quickly, and was now helping the little ones with their introductory weapons classes. It was just…

Jango was  _ good _ , he was  _ capable _ , and he knew it, and Kenobi was good, too, but even with that, there was no guarantee that he would survive this. And  _ mhi ade _ … They could not risk both of them. If Jango died trying to free Mandalore from  _ Kyr’tsad _ and their terror, Boba would need someone.  _ All _ of the  _ ade _ would need someone.

He had thought all of this through carefully before breaking the news to Shmi as gently as he could. He had realized that she would be angry, that she would think it  _ unfair _ , but even though he was prepared for it, the sting of her anger still hurt. She had spent the past two weeks speaking to him in terse, clipped sentences, and she had opted to spend most of her days with the  _ ade _ , rather than training with him or seeking him out for conversation.

Still, it brought a small smile to his face when Shmi came to see him off, holding Boba on her hip with her left arm securely around the toddler. Her lips were pursed, and he saw the fire in her eyes, the rigid way she was holding her shoulders. Boba saw him and gave him a gummy smile, reaching out for him. Jango chuckled and simply grabbed one of his tiny hands with a few of his fingers.

“Not right now, Boba,” he said gently. “I’m sorry,  _ ad’ika _ . I have to go away for a while. Be good for  _ gar ba’vodu _ , yeah?”

Boba frowned at him, but nodded. “ _ Lek _ ,” he said. “Back soon?”

Jango smiled and squeezed Boba’s hand gently. “As soon as I can,” he promised, and Boba’s nose scrunched up, no doubt catching that there was no time frame attached. His son was  _ smart _ , so much so that Jango sometimes wondered if the  _ Kaminiise _ had tampered with his genetics after all. Jango didn’t think  _ he _ was that smart at Boba’s age.

He looked up at Shmi, who seemed to have softened somewhat, watching him interact with Boba. “Thank you. For watching him while I’m away.”

Shmi shook her head. “You never have to thank me for that,” she murmured. “But you must come back to him. To all of them. Don’t get yourself--” She glanced down at Boba, and Jango grimaced. “--hurt.”

“Kenobi agreed to help,” he reminded her. “I don’t think there’s much a Mandalorian and a  _ Jetii _ can’t do. We’ll be fine.”

“ _ K’oyacyi, ner Mand’alor _ ,” she said. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Jango nodded. “ _ K’oyacyi _ , Shm’ika. I’ll be back for you,  _ ad’ika _ . I promise.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Boba’s, both of the little boy’s hands reaching up to grab his cheeks. Slowly, Jango drew back, smiling tightly at them as Boba continued trying to reach for him. With that, he turned and strode into the ship without looking back again.

* * *

As Jango made his final approach, he couldn’t help but feel… unnerved. This marked his first return to Mandalorian space in well over a decade, and he was… simultaneously homesick and guilty. He slowed as he passed  _ Mand’yaim _ , staring down at it through the cockpit for a moment before continuing on to Concord Dawn.

His pulse started to pick up and there was a sinking sensation in his stomach as he neared the old Fett homestead. He landed the ship not far from the house, and spent a moment sitting at the controls taking deep breaths. Slowly, he rose and went to lower the ramp.

He could see most of the land, bathed in the warm dawn glow. The farmstead was showing obvious signs of neglect: the fields were overgrown, the harvester was lying on its side, rusting away in the field (already stripped of any useable parts, Jango figured), and most of the windows he could see were busted out. But the farmhouse was still standing, as was the barn, and the doors were intact. It would be good enough, for now.

For a moment, Jango thought about going into the farmhouse, but he hesitated at the front door, his mind flashing to the image of his parents’ bodies lying on the floor, blood pooling around them, his father screaming at him to  _ run, Jango, and don’t look back-- _

He concentrated on his breathing, slow and steady, and relaxed the hands he hadn’t realized he’d balled into fists. Jango turned away from the farmhouse, heading back to  _ Slave I _ . Reentering the ship, he sank down onto one of the benches and pulled out his pistol, taking it apart just to inspect it and put it back together; he’d cleaned it already, just before leaving Kamino, but he needed something to  _ do _ , something to keep him from thinking about--

Jango scowled down at the pistol and wished Kenobi would hurry it up already.

* * *

It was nearly midday when the  _ Prudii  _ touched down. Jango finally emerged from  _ Slave I  _ again, eying the  _ Jetii _ ’s ship carefully. It looked like he’d been taking good care of it, although there were a few more traces of carbon scoring attesting to more firefights than Jango had seen on Tatooine. When Kenobi descended the ramp, he wasn’t wearing his tunics, thankfully. Instead, he’d donned an outfit similar to what Jango had seen before, with tall boots, synthleather jacket, and tight pants. His  _ Jetii’kad _ was nowhere to be seen, probably in that convenient pocket he’d sewn into the inside of the jacket, but there was a blaster on his hip.

He smiled as Jango approached, crossing his fist over his chest again, as he had the first time they’d met. “Mand’alor.”

Jango nodded and extended one hand. A brief look of surprise flitted across Kenobi’s face before he grinned again, clasping Jango’s arm near his elbow in the traditional Mandalorian greeting.

“Kenobi,” Jango said. “ _ Vor entye.  _ For coming.”

The  _ Jetti _ ’s grin turned sharper at that. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jango studied him for a moment and then shook his head. “I believe you. Come on, onto the  _ Slave _ .”

“Where are we going?” Kenobi asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“If you’re going to be fighting,” Jango said, “you’re going to need  _ beskar’gam _ .”

Kenobi froze, staring at Jango with wide eyes. “I couldn’t--”

“You’ll have to,” Jango said grimly. “Unless you want everyone to  _ know _ you’re a  _ Jetii _ , you need to hide your identity. That means not using the  _ Jetii’kad _ , and covering up that distinctive hair of yours.”

Kenobi shook his head. “I  _ couldn’t _ , Jango. I’m a  _ Jedi _ , I can’t swear vows that require allegiance to anything or  _ anyone _ else. I can’t swear to the  _ Resol’nare _ .”

“You came when I called.” Jango pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. Kenobi flushed, but lifted his chin in defiance of his point. Jango shook his head. “But I didn’t say you had to swear to the  _ Resol’nare _ . I know what I’m offering, Kenobi. You…” He truly  _ had _ thought about this, long and hard--he had even discussed the issue with Shmi, before he told her that she couldn’t come with him. They had decided that if anyone deserved to be honored as close to Mandalorian as possible, it was Kenobi--and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to get closer to Kenobi, to have him on their side when he and Shmi enacted their plans to free  _ mhi ade _ , waiting on Kamino for him, their future and lives hanging on this mission. “Consider it thanks, for answering when I called.”

Kenobi softened, and then he sighed. “ _ Vor entye _ ,” he said quietly. Then he shifted almost  _ guiltily _ and Jango’s eyes narrowed. “I presume you plan to take us to an armorer?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Kenobi said, looking sheepish, “at least they will not have to start from scratch.” Jango frowned, but before he could ask what Kenobi meant, the  _ Jetii _ was already turning around to head back up the ramp of the  _ Prudii _ . After a long moment, he reappeared, carrying a large metal case. He set it down in front of Jango, who cocked his head in silent question, and Kenobi unlocked it, raising the lid.

Inside lay a full set of  _ beskar’gam _ \--and it looked like real  _ beskar _ , too, not durasteel. The blue and grey paint was worn, but the armor itself had been well cared for.

Jango looked up sharply, his brow furrowed. “ _ How _ ?”

“It was a gift,” Kenobi sighed, “from Satine Kryze. This is the armor that I took from one of the  _ Kyr’tsad _ who tried to kill her. I wore it then for similar reasons--we were on the run, and had to hide our identities. At the end of our time here, when we had assured her and the  _ Jorad’alor _ ’s safety, she told me to keep it.” He paused, looking down at the armor with a wistful expression. “I had thought to return it to you. I knew that I would not wear it again--it wouldn’t be right. But it felt wrong to have it tucked away, never seeing use. Such things are meant to be passed down.”

“They usually are,” Jango agreed. “It’s good that you still have it. You’re right--it will lighten the armorer’s load.”

“Yes, though I’m afraid they will still have some work to do,” Kenobi said, smiling wryly. “I haven’t worn it since I was sixteen.” He frowned, then. “Not that I think I’ve grown much since then.”

Jango chuckled and shook his head, jerking his head toward the  _ Slave  _ again. “Let’s get it loaded and get going.”

Only a few minutes later, Kenobi was settled into the co-pilot’s chair, and Jango was taking them over the fields and planes. Without looking away from the controls, Jango said, “I need to… warn you. About the armorer.”

“Oh?”

“She’s from a Clan that still observes many of the Old Ways,” Jango explained. “The Clan--which they call ‘the Tribe,’ as any Mandalorian from  _ any _ Clan may join them, as long as they swear to the Creed, which is their version of the _Resol’nare_. They never remove their helmets in front of outsiders, and they consider anyone  _ not _ of their Clan to be an outsider.”

Kenobi hummed consideringly. “I’ve heard of them before. I believe we met a few of them, helping Satine. They helped us in turn, although we never did learn who they were.”

Jango nodded slowly, satisfied that Kenobi wouldn’t be offended or make an insensitive request for them to remove the helm. Not that he  _ really _ thought Kenobi would have done so even if he hadn’t warned him, but it was better to eliminate the possibility than gamble.

Within twenty minutes, they had reached their destination. It was a large compound, sitting atop a hill. They certainly weren’t  _ hiding _ , although they were far enough from any of the major cities that they would get few visitors. Jango landed the ship not far from the compound, and by the time he and Kenobi exited the ship, there was a woman waiting for them, wearing a skirt and tall boots, chest armor and pauldrons, with a fur draped over her shoulders. Her helmet was gold with small spikes on top of it.

As they approached, she crossed her right fist over her chest and nodded deeply. “ _ Mand’alor _ .”

Jango nodded in return. “Thank you for agreeing to help.”

“This is the Way,” she replied simply, and turned a considering gaze on Kenobi. “He is the one?”

“Yes. Though you will not have to start from scratch.”

She nodded again, turning back to Jango. “There are those within the Tribe who wish to help you.”

Jango blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that--the Tribe had always been an outlier, the Clan Wars having no impact on their policy of accepting any Mandalorian so long as they were willing to swear to their Creed. It meant that they were able to remain neutral during the Clan Wars, and he was surprised by the offer of help.

Though truth be told, this was what he was hoping for, even if he hadn’t expected it from the Tribe. He had asked Adonai and the few remaining  _ Haat Mando’ade _ he knew of who were still alive--the few who had not been on Galidraan with them (and the thought still sent an icy spear through his chest, but not the boiling, bitter rage of before, which was a pleasant development) to spread the word that he was returning. He hoped that they would rally, though he was prepared to do without them. Or die trying. Either way, he would regain his honor, and if he died, his soul would rest easier.

“ _ Vor entye _ ,” he said slowly. “I know it must mean much to you to part from the neutrality of the Tribe.”

“ _ Kyr’tsad cuyi dar’manda _ ,” she said flatly. “They are an abomination. We will be glad when they are no more, and the Tribe will not allow a battle to be fought for us. We will help. Now, show me the  _ beskar’gam _ .”

Kenobi nodded, retreating into the ship to bring the case down, placing it before the armorer. She knelt down, opening the box slowly, staring at the  _ beskar’gam _ inside. Finally, she nodded and rose.

“These are fine pieces,” she said, and Jango was grateful that she did not ask where the armor came from. Though she probably realized, given the peeling but distinctive paint job. “You will need to be measured. Do you require any alterations aside from sizing?”

Kenobi paused for a moment. “If the seams on the boots could be loosened, that would be appreciated. My fighting style requires greater flexibility than the current tight seams allow.” The armorer nodded and picked up the box as though it were weightless, nodding for them to follow her.

She took them around the side of the compound and through a gate where two burly  _ Mando’ade _ , also in full armor and holding heavy blaster cannons, stood guard. They crossed their right hands over their chests, nodding deeply, though they said nothing. Through the gate was an open courtyard, and off to one side was the forge.

“Take the jacket off,” the armorer ordered. Kenobi shrugged out of it as he gave Jango a significant  _ look _ . Realizing he was right about where Kenobi had stashed his  _ Jetii’kad _ , he wordlessly took the jacket and draped it over one arm, moving to sit on a small bench near the forge to observe. The armorer began to move around Kenobi in slow circles, eyeing him carefully and running a scanner over him to capture measurements before finally nodding and moving to take the  _ beskar’gam _ from its container, beginning with the helmet. “I will repaint this for you as well, unless you would like it stripped bare.”

Kenobi paused. “Bare  _ beskar _ is a bit… attention-catching. The paint would be appreciated.”

The armorer nodded. “Colors?”

“Black,” Kenobi said immediately, and then he paused. “And silver.”

The armorer tilted her head thoughtfully, likely considering the meaning of his choice. Jango knew that there was no way Kenobi didn’t realize the meanings behind those choices--black for justice and silver for one seeking redemption. His obvious respect for and knowledge of Mandalorian culture would have been enough, but the choices were also just too appropriate for the man. Not that Jango thought  _ Kenobi _ needed to seek redemption, but the fact that he was a  _ Jetii _ , one of the Order who had slaughtered his people, and yet he had answered the call of the  _ Mand’alor _ … It felt right. It felt like a new beginning-- _ cin vhetin _ .

Finally, the armorer nodded. “A fine choice. I will begin work immediately.  _ Mand’alor _ , you and your  _ burc’ya  _ may find refreshments in the house, if you wish.”

Jango glanced at Kenobi, who tilted his head and looked back to the armorer. “I’ve never seen  _ beskar _ worked before. Might I remain?”

“As you wish.”

* * *

It took several hours for the armorer to refit the pieces, separate the seams on the  _ cetare _ , strip the paint, and then repaint them. Kenobi watched with rapt attention the entire time, sitting on the ground near the forge with his legs tucked beneath him, his hands resting on his thighs. Jango remained on the bench, keeping a strong grip on the jacket that held Kenobi’s  _ Jetii’kad _ . Several members of the Tribe came out of the compound to look at them, staying a fair distance away and speaking quietly amongst themselves as they peered at them. Jango got the impression they didn’t get many visitors out here.

Finally, the armorer was finished, and she handed over the  _ beskar’gam _ and one of the black bodysuits that would go underneath, and Kenobi merely stared at it for a time, expression inscrutable, before accepting it.

“ _ Vor entye _ ,” he murmured, and rose.

“You may change inside. The first door on the left,” she instructed. Kenobi nodded and disappeared within the house. The armorer turned to Jango, then. “Does your  _ beskar’gam _ require maintenance?”

“ _ Nayc, vor’e _ ,” Jango answered, and she nodded her acceptance, returning to the forge proper to begin replacing her tools.

Only a few minutes later--and the speed at which Kenobi managed to don the armor was indication enough that he knew how to wear it, which made something warm in Jango’s chest--Kenobi emerged from the compound, holding the clothes he’d been in before. He set the neatly folded clothing down on the bench beside Jango and straightened, letting them both get a good look at him.

Kenobi in  _ beskar’gam _ was… striking. The armor was mostly black with silver lines accentuating the joinings of the plates, and running down his arms and legs. He had even pulled on the  _ buy’ce _ , and with it, he looked like a true warrior. It felt right, when Jango looked at him--he was strongly reminded of watching Kenobi fight in Jabba’s throne room, all fire and righteous fury. Fleetingly, Jango wondered what it would have been like had a Mandalorian been on Stewjon to find Kenobi and save him from his  _ dar’buir _ instead of a  _ Jetii.  _ He would have done well as a foundling, Jango thought.

“It suits you,” Jango murmured, and Kenobi nodded in thanks.

The armorer strode over, circling Kenobi again with an appraising eye. Finally, she hummed, and tilted her head.

“You wear it well,” she said, voice full of approval, making up for her lack of expression, face covered by her  _ buy’ce _ . She turned to Jango again. “It grows late. You may stay here for the night, if you wish.”

Jango glanced at Kenobi. “Will you be alright to leave the  _ Prudii _ for tonight?” Kenobi nodded again. “We will stay.  _ Vor entye _ .”

The armorer straightened somewhat. “We may not follow the  _ Resol’nare _ as most know it, but you are  _ Mand’alor _ . We recognize this, and require no thanks for our assistance. This is the Way.”

Jango blinked, and then smiled at her. “This is the Way,” he echoed, as he knew was their custom. She seemed pleased as she nodded to him before turning away, gesturing another Mandalorian over.

He was a big man, tall and broad--nearly a full head taller than Kenobi, who was a few inches taller than Jango himself. Still, he moved with the grace common to  _ Mando’ade _ , given their training.

“They will stay with us tonight,” the armorer told him. “See to their accommodations.”

“ _ Elek, Alor _ ,” the man said, his voice deep through the modulation of the helmet. Kenobi took his clothes from the bench and his jacket from Jango, who stood to follow the Mandalorian.

They were silent as the larger man led them into the compound. It was bright and warm inside, and distantly, Jango could hear the sounds of children laughing and playing, and he smiled. The smile dimmed somewhat as he remembered Boba, and the rest of his  _ ade _ on Kamino. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he was doing this for  _ all _ of his people,  _ including _ the  _ ade _ the  _ Kaminiise  _ had created, and pushed it from his mind.

They were led through the halls, the armored  _ Mando’ade  _ they passed nodding deeply and placing their fists against their chests, and up a flight of stairs. The Mandalorian stopped at the top of the staircase.

“The first two rooms on the right are unoccupied. Latemeal will be served soon downstairs,” he said, and Jango nodded. Without waiting for a reply, the Mandalorian crossed his fist over his chest and turned to leave them.

Jango chose one of the rooms and walked in, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kenobi entered the one beside it. The room was pleasant, if a bit plain. Light-colored stucco walls, large bed, a long mirror with a shelf mounted beneath it, an attached ‘fresher, and an armor rack in the corner and a chair beside it. The windows were all small and set high up near the ceiling--easier to avoid being sniped. Jango appreciated the sense of security it gave.

He decided against taking his armor off, yet, if they still had to go down for dinner. Instead, he simply set his  _ buy’ce _ onto the armor rack and exited the room again, heading for Kenobi’s. He knocked on the door, and the  _ Jetii _ called for him to enter after a moment. This room was identical to his own, and Kenobi had also set his own  _ buy’ce _ onto the armor rack, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gestured to the chair, and Jango moved to sit down.

“This is convenient,” Kenobi said, and Jango tilted his head in silent question. “If I simply keep the  _ buy’ce _ in place, the others joining us will likely assume that I am of the Tribe. We don’t have to correct them, and none of them would ask me to remove it. That will serve to hide my identity nicely.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Their help is an unexpected boon. We’ll have to wait until the rendezvous at the homestead tomorrow to see how many will actually answer the call, but the Tribe are known for their warriors. They are particularly skilled.”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “What  _ is _ the plan?”

He did not get a chance to reply as a small, young voice came from outside. “‘Scuse me,  _ Mand’alor _ ,  _ bal gar burc’ya _ ! Food’s ready!  _ Haili cetare! _ ”

Jango chuckled and Kenobi smiled softly, both of them exchanging amused looks as they rose. Neither bothered to retrieve their helmets before Kenobi opened the door. The child who had called to them was already gone, and they made their way down the stairs.

As they reached the main level, Jango could smell the spices of the food and followed his nose toward the kitchen. There was a long galley with perhaps two dozen of the Tribe standing around, waiting to grab their portions--likely to be taken back to their individual quarters to be eaten, since they could not remove their helms even to eat in front of others. As Jango approached, Kenobi just behind him, the others parted for them, dipping their heads and bringing their fists to their chests.

It made Jango… conflicted. He couldn’t deny the flash of  _ pleasure _ , of  _ satisfaction _ , at being recognized as  _ Mand’alor _ . The hope that his people would rally to his cause again was so strong it brought the sting of tears to his eyes, though they did not fall. But he also felt… ashamed. He  _ knew _ that he could not have changed what had happened--Jango had been a prisoner. He had been a  _ slave _ , and it had kept him from his people for so long, but it still felt to him as though he had  _ abandoned _ them.

That they accepted him back so easily was a gift from the  _ ka’ra _ , and not one that Jango knew he fully deserved.

He put the thoughts from his mind with some effort as he and Kenobi entered the kitchen, the familiar heat of the spice bringing its own sheen of tears to his eyes, and he grinned broadly. A lithe Mandalorian, still in full armor, and a young child--too young to have armor; Jango guessed the little blonde boy was maybe ten, at the oldest--serving the portions out.

“ _ Mand’alor _ ,” the man greeted them, nodding. He placed his fist across his chest, and the child copied him, beaming excitedly. Jango nodded to them.

“ _ Tiingilar? _ ” Jango asked hopefully, and the kid nodded quickly.

“And  _ buir _ has plenty of  _ tihaar _ !” the boy said excitedly. Jango chuckled.

“Just juice or milk for you,  _ ad’ika _ ,” the Mandalorian man said, sounding fond. The child pouted for a moment before grabbing a bottle and offering it to Jango, who took it with a nod of thanks. The child flushed and stepped back, almost hiding behind his  _ buir _ , who chuckled softly and offered them two large bowls of the stew.

Jango was right; as they sat down to eat, no one else joined them, the others taking their portions and retreating to their rooms to eat in privacy. He watched as Kenobi took his first bite of the stew, waiting for him to start coughing and choking on the spice, but he didn’t. Instead, Kenobi let out a quiet noise of satisfaction and continued eating eagerly. His eyes weren’t even watering, and Jango blinked at him in surprise.

After a moment, Kenobi seemed to realize that he was watching. He swallowed quickly and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“I’m just… surprised.”

Kenobi chuckled. “I  _ did _ tell you that we spent a year on the run in Mandalorian space. We survived during that time mainly on the kindness of strangers willing to harbor us, and to feed us. I became quite accustomed to Mandalorian spice, although my--” He paused, pursing his lips for a moment before continuing. “--my  _ buir _ didn’t fare so well. I thought he was going to choke to death every time we had a proper meal.”

Jango chuckled, shaking his head. He understood that Kenobi meant that  _ Jetii _ , Jinn. Smart of him not to say “Master” around here, avoiding the connection to the  _ Jetii _ , or any unpleasant assumptions about slavery on the part of anyone who might have overheard.

“Does your familiarity with Mandalorian cuisine extend to  _ tihaar _ ?” he asked, teasing lightly as he poured for them both. Kenobi hummed.

“Of course,” he agreed, “although it’s been some time. I hope you won’t think less of me if I’m  _ haryc b'aalyc _ before long.”

Jango laughed outright at that, and Kenobi looked pleased. “Don’t get  _ too _ drunk. I do need you functional tomorrow.”

Kenobi only smirked as he raised his glass. “ _ K’oyacyi! _ ”

Jango shook his head in amusement as he softly clinked his own glass against Kenobi’s. “ _ K’oyacyi! _ ”

Kenobi, Jango found, had been modest. He could hold his liquor well, and between the two of them, they had worked through over half the bottle of the strong liquor and found themselves pleasantly buzzed, though not quite  _ haryc b’aalyc _ . They lingered downstairs, seated at the table, drinking and speaking quietly, Jango pulling as many stories as he could from Kenobi about his time protecting Satine Kryze. His appreciation for Mandalorian culture, and his appreciation for  _ her _ , rang through clearly in his fond retelling. Jango thought Kenobi might be carrying a torch for her as much as she was for him.

Finally, when activity downstairs had ceased, all of the Tribe having retreated to their rooms to sleep a while ago, Jango and Kenobi stood in silent but mutual agreement to return to their rooms. Jango removed his  _ beskar’gam _ carefully, placing it on the rack, passing one hand over the cuirass before sinking down onto the bed gratefully, down to his blacks. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, sinking into sleep surrounded by  _ Mando’ade _ for the first time in well over a decade.

* * *

Jango woke just before dawn the next morning, always an early riser. Slowly, he stretched, smiling in satisfaction as his back cracked loudly in the quiet room, feeling lighter and more well-rested than he had in  _ years _ . He paused to pull on most of his armor, again neglecting the  _ buy’ce _ before leaving his room, stopping to knock on Kenobi’s door.

When Kenobi called for him to enter, he found him on a holocall, and he was strongly reminded of when he had “met” Master Jinn. But this time, it was a young boy staring back at them, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of Jango.

“Obi, behind you!”

Kenobi stared at the boy for a moment before slowly glancing at Jango behind him. Turning back to the child, he sputtered a laugh.

“He’s a friend, Ani,” Kenobi said. “This is Jango Fett.”

This was Anakin, Jango realized after a moment. Shmi’s  _ ad _ . Slowly, he stepped forward, nodding to the child.

“What?” Anakin asked, his face scrunching up in confusion, looking from Kenobi to Jango. “He’s your  _ friend _ ? I thought he captured you!”

Kenobi blinked, and then sighed, shaking his head. “My apologies, Padawan. I had thought you would catch the technicalities in what I told you about Tatooine.”

“Technicalities?” Jango asked, turning to Kenobi. He nodded, running a hand through his hair.

“I believe my exact words were: ‘The  _ official _ story is that I was captured to be turned in for a bounty, fortuitously on the same day a slave uprising took place,’” Kenobi explained before turning back to Anakin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer. I had thought you would catch that there was an  _ unofficial _ , true version to the story.”

Anakin’s confusion faded away into irritation. “Is this one of those things you  _ want _ to tell me, but the Council says you can’t talk about it, so you have to talk  _ around  _ it and hope everyone else gets it?”

“Just so,” Kenobi confirmed with a nod. Anakin sighed heavily.

“I  _ hate _ that.”

“Jedi do not  _ hate _ , Ani,” Kenobi said loftily, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“I know, I  _ know _ ,” he grumbled. “‘We only become severely annoyed.’”

Jango snorted at that, folding his arms over his chest and fixing Kenobi with a pointed  _ look _ . It seemed to  _ him _ that Kenobi hated plenty of people--he’d hated the Hutts, and Jango  _ knew _ that he hated Pre Vizla. Kenobi glanced at him and frowned, shaking his head minutely before turning back to Anakin, who was now staring at Jango with a thoughtful look that Jango recognized. The kid certainly had quite a bit of Shmi in him.

“So you actually  _ helped _ the slaves with the uprising?” Anakin asked slowly, and Jango nodded. Anakin stared at him for a moment longer before smiling brightly. “Pleased to meet you, then! And, uh,  _ vor entye _ .”

Jango blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the sudden change in demeanor--nor had he expected the Mando’a, although he should have, thinking about it. Shmi still spoke to Anakin often, leaving Kamino several times a month to comm him, quietly coordinating a schedule so she would catch him on a free day when he had no classes and they could spend long hours simply talking and enjoying each other’s presences from afar. Of course she had taught him Mando’a.

Finally, he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Satisfied, Anakin turned back to Kenobi. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

Kenobi sighed. “I know. And it’s alright to be upset about it, and I’m proud of you for letting me go. Have you been meditating on it?”

“Yes,” Anakin said, softening slightly. “Master Qui-Gon’s been helping. And Master Yan is keeping me  _ really _ busy with ‘saber practice.”

Kenobi smiled gently. “That’s good, Ani. I’ll be expecting you to show me a new kata when I get back, hmm?”

“Okay,” Anakin said before falling silent and biting his lower lip, eyes wide. It made him look far younger than Jango knew he was. “Just… you  _ will _ come back, right? You  _ have to _ .”

“I promise that I will always do my best to come back,” Kenobi said. “If I am able, I  _ will  _ come for you, Anakin.”

Jango recognized the way that the words were spoken, a sort of ritual between them. Anakin brightened, finally smiling again, and he nodded. The kid glanced at something out of range of the image, and then he sighed. “I gotta go. I’m presenting my paper on  _ Dha Werda Verda _ today, and I can’t be late.”

Jango blinked again at yet another unexpected reference to his culture. Shmi, it seemed, had taught him well. Kenobi merely smiled gently.

“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully, Ani,” he said. “You could recite it in your sleep by now.”

“I’m pretty sure I  _ have _ . I’ve definitely dreamed about it enough,” Anakin giggled. “Bye, Obi. You  _ gotta _ call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course, Ani,” Kenobi agreed easily. “Now go, don’t be late.”

Anakin nodded and leaned forward, and the image winked out.

“So that’s Shmi’s boy,” Jango said slowly, and Kenobi nodded, still smiling. He thought the conversation over, and tilted his head in question. “What’s a Padawan?”

“An apprentice,” Kenobi explained. “Anakin accepted me as his Master not long ago.”

Jango nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. Shmi would be pleased to hear that, if she didn’t already know. She’d always liked Kenobi--not that he could blame her, since he was the  _ Jetii  _ who’d freed her and her people. And Jango agreed--Kenobi wasn’t so bad, for a  _ Jetii _ . He trusted him with  _ beskar’gam _ and the freeing of his own people, after all.

“We’ll have to leave soon,” Jango said abruptly. “The meeting at the homestead is this afternoon.”

“Of course,” Kenobi agreed easily. Like Jango, he was already dressed in his  _ beskar’gam _ , sans  _ buy’ce _ . He stood and grabbed the bundle of clothes in one hand, holding his helm in the other. “I’m ready when you are.”

Jango hesitated a moment. “What will you do with your  _ Jetii’kad _ ? Do you have somewhere secure to stash it on the  _ Prudii _ ?”

Kenobi grinned at him and stood, turning around. At first, Jango saw nothing different, but then Kenobi reached to the small of his back, pulling a bit of the hilt out. He’d sewn in a pocket, the slim cylinder fitting inside it without being too conspicuous, hidden entirely by the black fabric. Jango hummed an approving noise.

“I know I shouldn’t use it, but I’d rather not be without it entirely,” Kenobi explained, and Jango nodded his understanding. It was always better to be prepared.

The armorer was waiting for them out front, speaking to the same large Mandalorian who had led them to their rooms the night before. They both nodded and put their fists across their chests as Jango approached.

“ _ Mand’alor _ ,” she said. “The  _ Jorad’alor _ provided us with the location of your meeting. Those of the Tribe who wish to help will follow you there.”

Jango nodded and hesitated for only a moment before offering, “This is the Way.” She seemed pleased by his answer, though he still had to stifle the urge to thank her, knowing that she wanted no thanks from him.

The armorer turned to Kenobi, then, looking him over and nodding. “You are a fierce warrior. It was my honor to help you.”

Kenobi stared at her for a moment before smiling. “I am not the  _ Mand’alor _ , so allow me to say this:  _ vor entye _ .” The armorer’s head tilted, and Jango got the distinct impression that she was  _ amused _ .

“This is the Way,” she said simply, repeating Jango. “I will remain here, as our forge and our  _ beskar  _ must never go unguarded.  _ K’oyacyi _ !”

“ _ K’oyacyi _ !”

* * *

There were already a few ships beside the  _ Prudii _ when Jango brought  _ Slave I _ back down to the homestead. Jango looked them over carefully as he landed: all Mandalorian make, none sporting the  _ Kyr’tsad _ colors or insignia. Around the ships a little gaggle of some ten  _ Mando’ade  _ were sitting in the overgrown grass; none of them wore  _ Kyr’tsad beskar’gam _ , either. Jango decided there was no  _ immediate _ threat. Anyone from  _ Kyr’tsad _ who had heard and hoped to infiltrate the group wouldn’t actually make a move until later, when more of them had gathered.

At least, Jango  _ hoped _ there would be more. He knew that the Tribe was going to lend him its strength, but how many other  _ Mando’ade  _ would actually answer his call?

“Oh,” Kenobi breathed as the ramp lowered, and Jango drew himself from his thoughts, turning around to look. The  _ Mando’ade  _ had gotten up and walked over to the ship to greet them, and there was a familiar face standing at the fore.

“Saiya?” Jango asked, blinking at her as she beamed at him. She was wearing full armor, painted orange and brown--for a lust for life and honor. Good choices for her, and so reminiscent of Tatooine’s own coloring. Saiya crossed her closed fist over her chest, nodding to him.

“ _ Ner Mand’alor _ ,” she greeted him, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” Jango said, “but what are you doing here?”

“Shmi wasn’t the only one to get herself adopted by a Mandalorian. After the uprising, many of us wanted to leave Tatooine,” she said. “ _ Jorad’alor _ Kryze offered us a place here--any of us who wanted to come. And many did--we all remember what you did for us, even if we were instructed not to speak of it openly. I came here with all of my cousins--” She gestured to the other  _ Mando’ade _ . “--and we were adopted into Clan Kryze. Many others did the same.

“As to why we’re  _ here _ ,” Saiya continued, still smiling at him, “We swore to the  _ Resol’nare _ . When the  _ Mand’alor _ calls, you answer.”

Jango smiled back at her. “ _ Vor entye _ ,” he said, and she nodded. Turning his attention to the others with her, he realized that he did recognize their faces, even if he did not recall all of their names. As Saiya had said, they were all from Tatooine, and as he looked them over, they all pressed their closed fists across their chests, smiling at him. He nodded, allowing his own smile to grow larger.

“And Ben!” Saiya exclaimed, reaching out to clap Kenobi’s shoulder as he passed. “ _ Su’cuy _ !”

“ _ Su’cuy _ ,” Kenobi returned, chuckling. “I had heard from Ma Jira that you’d left Tatooine, although she did not say where you had gone. This is a pleasant surprise.”

They broke off into smaller groups to catch up as Jango sat down and began cleaning his blasters for the second time since leaving Kamino.

More ships arrived quickly, after that. There were two ships from the Tribe, each holding twenty-odd  _ Mando’ade _ , and Jango was pleased by that. Smaller vessels came, too, holding individual families or small groups of friends. Several more ships of freed Amavikka from Tatooine arrived, and Saiya and her group greeted them cheerfully. Jango’s smile was fond as he watched them press their foreheads together in a Keldabe kiss before pressing their fingers to their mouths, then over their hearts. Like Shmi, they seemed to have found ways to integrate their culture into their new lives as  _ Mando’ade _ .

Watching the steadily-growing group mingle, Jango felt at home in a way he hadn’t since well before Galidraan. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how it felt, the fire burning away in his chest, at being surrounded by  _ Mando’ade _ \-- **_ner_ ** _ Mando’ade _ .

The ships stopped landing at midday, and Jango stood slowly. He hadn’t kept precise track of the numbers, but he guessed there were over two hundred of them there. It exceeded both his expectations and his hopes. They were an interesting mix, too--he recognized several older  _ Mando’ade  _ as some of those who had not been on Galidraan, including three who had been benched due to their injuries, and one woman who had been too heavily pregnant to fight; some he recognized as not having been  _ Haat Mando’ade _ , but honorable enough, from some of the other Clans--members of House Kryze were heavily represented, he was glad to see; there were also younger  _ Mando’ade  _ he had never met before, many of them following older family members around.

Jango moved a bit higher up on _ Slave I _ ’s ramp and whistled high. Instantly, the  _ Mando’ade  _ fell silent, all looking to him. In unison, they all brought their right fists over their hearts,  _ beskar _ clinking on  _ beskar _ the only sound, and he felt breathlessly dizzy for a moment. He had never thought he would see  _ that _ again.

He took a deep breath--he hated this part. Grand speeches were never really his forte--that was his  _ buir _ , all grand rhetoric and rousing, fiery words.

“ _ Vor entye, _ ” Jango said, raising his voice so they could all hear him. “ _ Vode’an _ .” He paused briefly, fighting the urge to grimace; he knew that Kryze had quietly spread the story of why he had not returned to them after Galidraan, but he still felt the need to address his long absence. “I have been away for a long time. That you still rally to the call and recognize me as  _ Mand’alor _ …  _ Mandokarla _ . All of you.”

“This is the Way,” the members of the Tribe called back all at once. Jango nodded, smiling at them.

“We all know why we’re here. The Clan Wars are all but over. All other Houses have made peace; only the  _ dar’manda _ of  _ Kyr’tsad _ continue to fight. They do not fight honorably; we all know this. Last week, they attacked both a hospital and an orphanage; they left no survivors in the hospital, and took all of the children to their indoctrination camps.” A ripple of displeasure went through the crowd; Jango knew that they were sickened by what  _ Kyr’tsad _ had done, and waited for them to calm again. “This cannot be allowed to continue, and we finally have an opportunity to end it.”

He scanned the crowd again; he had paid close attention to each individual as they arrived, and none of them were  _ Kyr’tsad _ conspirators. That he could tell, anyway, and his intuition for such things was fairly good. He recalled looking back at his dislike of Montross as a child, and he wondered if Jaster might have listened if he’d told him, or taken it as jealousy of the man’s position as his  _ buir _ ’s second-in-command.

Jango put the thoughts aside, refocusing on the moment. “One good thing came from the attacks last week,” he told them. “Clan Kryze was able to attach tracking devices to the gunships they used. For the first time, they went undetected. Further intelligence confirmed that we’ve found their central camp, and their leadership is there.”

A murmur of excitement went throughout the camp, and Jango smiled toothily. “We will need time to prepare our attack. Ben--” He paused, scanning the crowd for Kenobi, finding him near the back,  _ buy’ce _ already on to prevent anyone from recognizing him for who he really was; he gestured to him. “--and Saiya--” Jango found her in the crowd, near the front, and nodded to her. She waved to everyone, grinning broadly, her  _ buy’ce _ under her other arm. “--and I will come around to ask what each of you specialize in. Once we have that information, we’ll put together our plan of attack and give you further instructions tomorrow morning.

“For tonight, rest easy knowing that tomorrow, all of those _Kyr’tsad_ _hu’tuun’e_ will be marching far away.”

“ _ Oya! _ ” a good many of them cried, and Jango grinned, nodding.

When they grew quiet and still again, simply waiting for his dismissal, Jango added, “And go easy on the  _ tihaar _ .” A chorus of laughter went up, and Jango nodded once more at them before descending the platform.

“That went well enough,” he muttered to himself, and shook his head. Time to get to work.

* * *

By early evening, it had begun to feel like a real camp of  _ Mando’ade _ , the way Jango always remembered it. Many of them had pulled benches and tables and chairs from their ships, laying them out in the now trampled-down grass. Many were sparring, and Jango saw more than a few arm wrestling matches going on; there were many others sitting and speaking quietly, cleaning their weapons or armor; a few of the younger ones were practicing with their blasters or vibroblades, the older  _ Mando’ade _ standing watch and offering tips.

Someone--probably Maari, the woman who’d been left behind for Galidraan due to her pregnancy; she always was a mother tooka--had even set up a little camp kitchen, cooking up another batch of  _ tiingilar _ to be passed around for dinner.  _ Tihaar _ flowed freely, but he had yet to see anyone so much as stumble; whether that attested to their high alcohol tolerance or them heeding Jango’s warning, he didn’t know.

Jango had made his rounds of the  _ Mando’ade _ , and sat on the ramp of  _ Slave I _ , watching the others fondly as he waited for Saiya and Kenobi to finish. Saiya approached first, a bowl of  _ tiingilar _ in each hand. She held one out and he nodded his thanks, beginning to eat eagerly. The food on Kamino was so  _ bland _ , no matter what Shmi tried to do to it. He had missed the burn and tingle of real  _ spice _ .

Kenobi approached quickly after, not eating with them to maintain his implied cover as one of the Tribe. Jango nodded at him, and he sat sideways on the ramp so he could see both Jango and Saiya.

“I pulled thirty-three heavy infantry, fourteen stealth ops, and twelve snipers,” Saiya offered first.

“Forty-two heavy infantry, eight snipers, and eighteen light infantry,” Kenobi offered.

“I’ve got thirty-seven heavy infantry, nine light infantry, and forty-seven who can do ‘whatever is required,’” Jango said. Saiya raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “The Tribe are an interesting group.”

“Two-hundred-and-twenty-three, including the three of us,” Kenobi mused aloud. Jango nodded; it was  _ much _ better than he’d expected. “How many did intelligence find in the camp?”

“Just over three-hundred total, but close to a hundred are children,” Jango said, and Saiya growled quietly. “The barracks where the children are kept are underground, so at least we shouldn’t have to worry about them during the assault.”

They all fell silent for a moment, Saiya and Jango returning to their food and trying not to think about what  _ Kyr’tsad _ might be doing to those  _ ade _ , to turn them into mindless killers.

Kenobi spoke up, softly: “I spoke to Satine today.” Jango looked up at him, frowning. He didn’t sound pleased about it. “She wanted to come herself to tell you, but her  _ buir  _ wouldn’t allow it. She heard from Bo-Katan after the attacks last week.”

Jango’s frown turned into a glower. Bo-Katan was a stain upon their House. For all of House and Clan Kryze’s loyalty and honor, she had spat in their faces at the end of the Clan Wars, when Adonai Kryze had had to make concessions to both the other Houses and the New Mandalorians to maintain his power and the uneasy peace they’d attained. Jango understood why he’d done it, but Bo-Katan had taken some of the demilitarization measures the New Mandalorians demanded in the larger cities as an insult to their heritage. She had renounced her  _ buir _ and the rest of her  _ aliit _ , giving up her right to her Clan name in the process, and joined  _ Kyr’tsad _ , fighting to eliminate the New Mandalorians, and the Clans who would put down their arms.

“Apparently, when Bo-Katan heard that you were returning, she had a change of heart about  _ Kyr’tsad _ ,” Kenobi continued. “Bo-Katan found the trackers, but left them in place, and called Satine instead of alerting the others. She wants to leave, but has nowhere to go, no guarantee that she wouldn’t be hunted and killed by  _ both _ sides, if she did.” Even more softly, Kenobi added, “I imagine that there are others who are in her predicament--those who did not necessarily want to join  _ Kyr’tsad _ , but saw no other option. Those who did not want to abandon the Old Ways, but saw that that was precisely what the New Mandalorians are trying to force them to do.”

And that… was difficult to hear. It  _ hurt _ , because Jango knew if he had  _ been there _ , if the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ had just  _ been there _ , then those who were desperate to hold onto their heritage would have had another  _ option _ . An  _ honorable _ option.

But Jango hadn’t been there. His  _ aliit _ and his freedom had been taken from him on Galidraan. For a moment, he felt that old, familiar  _ rage _ rise up again, looking at Kenobi, thinking about the  _ Jetiise _ .

He forced himself to take a breath. No, it had been  _ Kyr’tsad _ . It had always been  _ Kyr’tsad _ . They had had it all planned out, a way to cut down the only force that could truly oppose them and a way to strike back at the ancient enemy of Mandalore. They had ensured their rise to power, and they had known that, through force or through a lack of other options, they would gain more followers.

“How would we even coordinate an offer of surrender?” Jango asked.

“With Bo-Katan, through Satine,” Kenobi answered immediately. “Decide what time we will begin the assault, and tell her to have everyone who wants to side with us to either begin attacking or hide underground with the  _ ade _ .”

Jango bristled. “How do we know that this isn’t a trap?”

Kenobi’s smile was sad. “Bo-Katan was… young and idealistic when she joined  _ Kyr’tsad _ . She was  _ angry _ , and thought that anything was better than what her  _ buir _ and the New Mandalorians were trying to do,” he said. “She didn’t sign up to kill the sick and wounded, or to kidnap children.”

Jango set the  _ tiingilar _ down, staring intently at Kenobi, who looked back, his black  _ buy’ce _ hiding any expression. “Do you trust her?”

Kenobi tilted his head. “Trust is a strong word. But I  _ believe  _ her.”

Slowly, Jango offered, “We’ll give her a false plan, but keep the timing about the same. That way, if this is a trap,  _ Kyr’tsad _ won’t have  _ all _ of the intel.”

Kenobi nodded, satisfied. “ _ Vor entye _ ,” he murmured, and Jango nodded back curtly. He still didn’t like it, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to issue an order for no quarter, not if there was a chance she was telling the truth.

“You two found the apparent leaders of each group you spoke to?” Jango asked, and they both nodded. “Good. I want all of them here after dinner to help us plan.”

* * *

The next morning dawned, bright and early. Jango was pleased when he exited his ship at how many of the  _ Mando’ade _ were already up and about; it seemed they  _ had _ listened to his instructions, as none of them seemed hungover. He settled himself down on the ramp again, accepting the spicy noodles Maari offered with quiet thanks and a fond smile.

Kenobi emerged from the  _ Prudii _ and made his way over.

“You spoke to Satine Kryze last night?” Jango asked, and Kenobi nodded.

“I told her only what we want Bo-Katan to know.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust Satine to keep a secret?”

Kenobi hesitated before saying delicately, “I think that Satine wants very badly to believe Bo-Katan. She’s placing a great deal of faith in her sister because she cannot bear the thought that that faith may be misplaced.”

Jango sighed, but nodded. Kenobi leaned back against the ship, arms folded over his chest. He looked… intimidating. Like a real Mandalorian; he wore that  _ beskar’gam _ like a second skin, and Jango almost wished he  _ could _ swear to the  _ Resol’nare _ .

He waited until the others had all roused and eaten before standing up on the ramp and whistling again. Just as they had yesterday, they stopped what they were doing to turn toward him, fists over their hearts. The sound of  _ beskar _ -on- _ beskar _ made Jango’s heart soar, today, and he was grateful for the lack of nostalgic sorrow that had plagued him the day before.

“Today is the day,  _ vod’e _ ,” Jango began. A chorus of excited murmuring and a few cheers went up. “Now, you should all have your squad assignments. Anyone who doesn’t… please pay more attention.” He got a few chuckles out of that one. “Heavy Infantry is split into three squads. Squad 1 will go with me for a frontal assault, assuming these  _ hu’tuun’e _ will meet us head-on.” Another round of laughter, this time jeering. “We’ll be supplemented by Squad 2, Light Infantry. Heavy Infantry Squad 3 will take the east side with Light Infantry Squad 4, and Heavy Infantry Squad 5 will take the west side with Light Infantry Squad 6.

“Stealth Squad--S-Squad for short: your job is to secure the  _ ade _ . They’re being held in underground bunkers, but there are escape tunnels. You will secure the tunnel to ensure no  _ Kyr’tsad _ escape that way, and breach the bunkers to reach the  _ ade _ . You may have help from the inside; if it comes through, the secure hatch to the bunker will already be open. If it doesn’t, you’ll go fifteen feet away and blow the tunnel’s ceiling; that will lead you to an upper service corridor with access to the bunker.

“Their base is a retrofitted Protector training ground,” Jango continued, “so we have the basic schematics, supplemented by more recent intel. On both the east and west sides, there are secured grates for ventilation and emergency access. You’ll blow them and enter the compound, and our frontal assault will either enter after you, containing the fighting to the camp, or you’ll flush them out and pin them between the three of us.

“Everybody clear?” A chorus of affirmative cheers, and then Jango grinned viciously, baring his teeth. “Good hunting.  _ Oya! _ ”

“ _ Oya! _ ”

* * *

They all piled in to a few of the larger ships, packed to the gills, and set down about half a klik from the camp itself. Kenobi opted to take the  _ Prudii _ , flying solo to meet them. He joined Jango near one of the Tribe’s ships as he watched the squards form up and begin moving toward the camp.

“They’ll probably have reenforced blast doors at the main entrance,” Kenobi said casually. A little  _ too _ casually, Jango thought, and he looked at him, narrowing his eyes beneath the  _ buy’ce _ he’d finally donned. “Is now a good time to mention that I have a couple of rocket launchers?”

Jango stared at him, and then barked a startled laugh. “Where did you get them?”

If Jango could’ve seen his face, he suspected Kenobi would’ve been giving him that wolfish grin. “One of my un-affiliated friends is a semi-retired arms dealer. Now he runs a diner on Coruscant--the food is divine, and the basement has a delightful assortment of arms to choose from.”

He stared at the  _ Jetii  _ for a long moment. First Hondo, then a krayt dragon, and now an  _ arms dealer _ ? Where did a  _ Jetii  _ make these sorts of friends?

“You’re full of surprises,” Jango sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, that was a perfect time to mention it.” Turning to Squad 1, he called out: “Who knows how to use a rocket launcher?” A few hands went up, and Jango pointed at the largest two. “We have two of them, courtesy of Ben here.”

“They’re Corellian make, easy enough to operate, but the kick-back isn’t to be underestimated,” Kenobi warned them. They nodded. Jango noted absently that one of them was from the Tribe, and the other from Tatooine.

As Kenobi went up into the  _ Prudii _ ’s hold to grab the weapons, Jango turned to them. “What are your names?”

“Ekari Sunwalker,” the former slave said.

The other large man hesitated for a moment. The instant he gave his name, Jango understood why. “Patri Vizla.”

Ekari looked up sharply at him, and Jango nodded. “You joined the Tribe rather than allying with Death Watch?”

Patri nodded slowly. “I renounced Pre Vizla. Many say I should not have kept the name, but I refuse to acknowledge him as the leader of our House. Our House’s leader is my  _ ori’vod _ , Petra Vizla, armorer to the Tribe.”

“Your reason for being here is more personal than the rest of us,” Jango noted softly. “You seek to restore honor to the name of your House, and I commend you for it.”

Patri’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded gratefully. Ekari also nodded, relaxing some as Kenobi returned down the ramp, two large boxes on a hoversled. Both  _ Mando’ade  _ eagerly started forward, and Kenobi handed off a case to each of them.

“I tested them before bringing them here,” Kenobi said airily, and Jango snorted. “Both good units. There are six rockets in each case. I don’t recommend taking them out of the cases until we’re in position.”

Both men nodded, Tang opening his case to peer inside, nodding in satisfaction and allowing Ekari to lean over to peer at it before closing it up again. Nodding deeply to Jango, both of them moved off to rejoin the squad.

“You tested them?” Jango asked, voice laden with wry amusement. Kenobi shrugged. Jango just shook his head.

Kenobi turned fully towards him again, tilting his head. “Is now a good time to tell you that I also have one Gungan shield generator?”

* * *

_ Kyr’tsad _ had heavily modified the old Protector training ground that they now inhabited. The walls had been reenforced and made higher, and Kenobi had been right--the doors were secure blast shields. It would take a few hits with the rocket launchers before they could punch through to blow them.

The Light Infantry, with Kenobi at its head, had advanced first, and deployed the shield generator. It wouldn’t do anything to keep  _ bodies _ out, Kenobi had warned him, but that just meant that the Heavy Infantry could form up in the gaps left by Squad 2 for them. Jango strode forward through the ranks to stand just in front of Kenobi, who had a blaster in one hand and his other resting on a still-sheathed vibroblade. It occurred to Jango, then, that he hadn’t seen the  _ Jetii  _ use either of those weapons. He’d just have to hope he was as capable with them as he was his  _ Jetii’kad _ .

A single mortar flew out from the camp, and everyone tensed; Jango could feel the electric charge of  _ anticipation  _ as it flew towards them. It dispersed harmlessly against their shield.

“Ekari, Patri,” Jango called, and the two moved into position, just inside of the shields, with the muzzles of the rocket launchers pushing just outside the shield. Almost at once, both fired off shots, hitting their targets easily. The doors shuddered and dented, creaking ominously, but did not break. “Again.”

They drew the rocket launchers back, and as they reloaded, several more mortars broke uselessly against the shield. Jango had only heard of the Gungan people of Naboo before in passing; they were fairly reclusive, and not even the human Naboo they shared the planet with had met many of them. But in recent years, since the invasion, they had become somewhat more social; he wondered if they would be open to exporting certain pieces of their technology. If this was what  _ one _ of their shield generators could do, he could only imagine what their weapons were like.

After the second round of shots, their comms crackled to life. “ **_East team is in position, ready to breach as soon as those doors are blown._ ** ”

Another call echoed them only a few moments later: “ **_West team is in position, waiting for the signal_ ** **.** ”

“Again,” Jango called. The third strike of the rocket launchers caused the doors to cave in, creating an opening. “Once more.”

With the final blast, the doors weren’t destroyed, but they were blown off their hinges, falling into the camp itself. Jango turned to Kenobi slightly. “Does the shield have to remain in place? Or can it move with us?”

Kenobi nodded. “It can move with us.”

Switching over to comms, Jango instructed, “ **_Advance! Move the shield in time with us._ ** ”

“ **_East team is setting the charge in ten… nine…_ ** ”

“ **_West team is also setting the charge in ten… nine…_ ** ”

Slowly, the sound of almost one hundred pairs of  _ beskar _ -clad feet hitting the ground started up, and they all moved steadily forward. At the entrance to the camp--which, properly, should be called a stronghold, Jango mused--he could see lines of  _ Kyr’tsad _ forming up. A moment later, the distant sounds of the charges on either side of the walls sounded, and Jango saw several of the  _ Kyr’tsad _ peel off toward either side.

“ **_Remember, everyone: we know that bodies can pass in and out of this shield. They don’t_ ** ,” Kenobi said into the comm.

“ **_Once we get close enough, Squad 1, send your front two lines out of the shield with me. The rest of you, follow two lines at a time; Squad 2, repeat. Ben, you’re with me._ ** ”

As they approached, Jango felt himself relaxing. It was almost funny, the way that he was so much more riled  _ waiting _ for a fight than when he was actually in one. Keeping his guard up, looking for signs of danger, he felt his pulse quicken, and his body tense; entering a fight, a sort of  _ calm _ and  _ peace _ fell over him, and he sank gladly into the rhythm of battle.

They were within a few meters of the entrance when the shield stopped, Squad 2 behind them standing still as Squad 1 formed up behind Jango and Kenobi.

Kenobi glanced at him, tilting his head. “ **_Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur._ ** ”

Jango barked a laugh, and it was echoed by others on the comms. Again, someone yelled, “ **_Oya!_ ** ” and the cry rippled through them. With that, Jango and Kenobi started forward, slowly pushing through the shield and bringing their blasters up.

_ Kyr’tsad _ started firing, mostly directed at him. Jango crouched as he walked, darting back and forth as needed, or making sure that shots glanced off his  _ beskar’gam _ when he could, rather than dodging and risk them hitting someone behind him. He glanced to the side, watching Kenobi moving fluidly, as if sensing where the bolts would be before they were even fired. Jango frowned and turned back to the task at hand.

He caught two of their front line between the pauldron and the shoulder plate, and they both dropped, clutching at the wounds. Jango hit another three in the second line in the stomach, between the cuirass and the codpiece. He saw another few go down, more blaster bolts coming from behind him, flying between him and Kenobi from the  _ Mando’ade  _ behind them. He heard a few shouts behind him and gritted his teeth, knowing he didn’t have time to look back to see who was injured and how badly. He heard a few clipped barks of “ **_hit, falling back_ ** ” over the comms, which was a comfort. If they were well enough to speak clearly, without gasping, they would probably be alright, if they could get to cover without being hit again.

Jango caught a bolt to his cuirass and grunted; it hit  _ hard _ before the  _ beskar  _ deflected it. He might’ve bruised a rib from that, and it was only going to get worse as they got closer.

As they approached the doors, Kenobi said, “ **_Let’s split up, take either side of the door and let the heavy gunners take a shot._ ** ”

Jango nodded, trusting that Kenobi would see or  _ sense _ his agreement, and split for the left wall as Kenobi darted toward the right. He put his back to the wall, holding his blaster out to the side, and darted from cover to hit them when they leaned out a bit too far. He saw glimpses of Kenobi on the other side doing the same. The  _ Kyr’tsad _ were dropping, slowly but steadily, and there were few replacements; they should be able to push into the main compound soon.

“ **_I can jump the wall_ ** ,” Kenobi offered, and Jango hissed a breath, praying he had used the private channel. He heard nothing else, and relaxed.

“ **_You’re supposed to be playing regular soldier, remember?_ ** ” Jango growled, and Kenobi laughed.

“ **_My jetpack must have gotten lost at some point during the battle,_ ** ” Kenobi answered playfully, darting out to kick one of the  _ Kyr’tsad _ before shooting him in the stomach and twirling back into cover. “ **_Nobody’s going to be paying enough attention to realize that I’m not using one. They won’t ask questions, and we have an easy answer if they do._ ** ”

“ **_Fine_ ** ,” Jango sighed, knowing that Kenobi would probably do it anyway, even if he disagreed. Jango rolled forward, diving beneath the shots the  _ Kyr’tsad  _ were aiming at the squads behind him, unsheathing his vibroblade with his left hand and stepping back to stab one of the  _ Kyr’tsad  _ while firing a shot with the blaster in the other hand into another, catching him in the throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kenobi leap and then flip, easily clearing the four meter wall.

As Jango used his blade to cut the back of one of the  _ Kyr’tsad _ ’s knees, he saw Kenobi come around the other side of the now-ragged line of them guarding the main entry. Jango shot another, and stabbed one more; Kenobi took out his own vibroblade, having affixed his blaster back to his hip, and it looked like some sort of ‘saber form, but with a vibroblade instead of a  _ Jetii’kad _ . It seemed… strange, but four fell to his blade until one of his blows glanced off  _ beskar’gam _ , only for the man to be dropped by one of the shots from the squads. Kenobi nodded his thanks, and Jango stepped into the main compound.

There was a large, open area, with a few buildings at the far end. On the left and the right, he could see lines of  _ Kyr’tsad _ falling out of formation, retreating back towards the buildings at the far end. Nodding to himself, Jango raised his blaster and resumed shooting. As the squads followed him and Kenobi farther into the open space, fanning out behind them, it seemed as though they had the  _ Kyr’tsad _ well and truly cornered, and Jango grinned fiercely beneath his  _ buy’ce _ .

Suddenly, Kenobi froze beside him, another trooper pushing him back to cover him as he went rigid.

“ **_What?_ ** ” Jango barked, not looking back as he refocused his attention on the  _ Kyr’tsad _ . He knelt, making himself a smaller target as he picked them off--one, two, three, four fell. He gave the blaster a moment to rest, mindful not to let it overheat, and risked a glance at Kenobi. “ **_What is it?_ ** ”

“ **_I sense something_ ** ,” Kenobi answered, tilting his head back. “ **_Haar’chak!_ ** ” If Jango weren’t fighting the growing anxiety pooling in his belly, he might have found it amusing, hearing Kenobi swear in Mando’a. A short beep told him when Kenobi switched back to the open comm channel. “ **_Everyone to the center of the field; pack in as tightly as you can. Light squads, get that shield up as fast as you can_ ** .”

Without question, they moved to obey, and Jango switched back over to their private channel.

“ **_What’s wrong?_ ** ”

“ **_We weren’t planning on them having any air support,_ ** ” Kenobi said grimly, and Jango frowned. They  _ weren’t _ supposed to have any air support--Kryze’s intelligence had told them that there was no airfield or hangar at this compound, and they had destroyed most of their ships after the attacks on the hospital and orphanage.

“ **_You sense a ship coming?_ ** ” Jango asked. “ **_Any chance they’re friendly?_ ** ”

“ **_I very much doubt it,_ ** ” Kenobi answered grimly. Jango nodded, clenching his jaw. They would just have to hope that this Gungan contraption held up against a fighter. As if sensing his question-- _ Jetii _ , Jango reminded himself, so he probably  _ had _ \--Kenobi sighed. “ **_The shield will hold for a few minutes, at most. We’ll have to make sure it’s enough._ ** ”

They gathered inside the shield, facing outward and pushing their blaster muzzles outside its range to cover the  _ Mando’ade _ still running towards them. As they watched the last of the  _ Kyr’tsad _ disappear into the buildings--aside from those of them already lying prone on the ground, and Jango noted with satisfaction that there were far more in  _ Kyr’tsad _ armor lying dead in the muddy grass than  _ Mando’ade _ \--Jango had to remind himself to breathe, slow and even and deep, controlled breaths.

They felt the ground tremble beneath them, and Jango hoped that was the Stealth team--ordered to stay off of the comms, in case their channels were intercepted, unless there was a serious problem, leaving them to guess at their progress for now--until he heard the distinctive, familiar  _ roar _ of a rocket.

He braced for impact even as that gave him an idea. As the rocket crashed into the shield, energy crackling around the spot where it had hit, Jango reached for his comm control to switch back to the general channel. He caught sight of the ship, a distinctive Federation fighter, painted in bold  _ Kyr’tsad _ colors, and he growled low.

“ **_Ekari, Patri--how many rockets do we have left?_ ** ” he asked.

“ **_Six more between us_ ** ,” Patri answered promptly. Understanding what Jango was asking, he pushed his way through the tightly-packed  _ Mando’ade _ , setting the case down and opening it, loading the launcher again and trying to line up a shot at the fighter, now coming around to make another pass. Some ways away, Ekari was doing the same.

A hail of shots hit the shield, causing that crackle of energy again, and Ekari fired. Jango watched the rocket just  _ barely _ miss the wing. Patri fired, and it, too, missed as the ship spun in tight circles, though the shockwave from the explosion seemed to rattle its balance briefly.

“ **_Keep firing_ ** ,” Jango ordered as Kenobi turned to him. He switched back to their private channel. “ **_They’d better get a hit._ ** ”

“ **_Give me your jetpack,_ ** ” Kenobi said, and Jango shook his head. “ **_I can stop it, but unless you want it to be_ ** **extremely** **_obvious what I really am, I need your jetpack. They_ ** **will** **_be watching me this time._ ** ”

Jango hesitated for another moment, staring Kenobi down before holstering his blaster and reaching up to unclip the jetpack.

“ **_Have you ever used one of these before?_ ** ” Jango asked as he handed it over.

“ **_No,_ ** ” Kenobi admitted as he clipped it on. Jango felt a spike of  _ dread _ . “ **_I’ll be fine. I can use the Force for the… finer control. We just need this to_ ** **look** **_like I’m only using the jetpack._ ** ”

Jango still didn’t like it, but he simply nodded.

Kenobi nodded, tensing as he watched the ship, waiting for it to come back around again, bending his knees slightly as he powered the jetpack on. The  _ Mando’ade _ closest to him stepped back, pressing even more firmly against their fellows.

“ **_Once I have the fighter distracted, head for the buildings. I doubt even_ ** **Kyr’tsad** **_will fire on their own; they can’t afford to lose that many troops._ ** ”

“ **_Elek. K’oyacyi,_ ** ” Jango said, and Kenobi leapt up, the jetpack flaring to life as he flew upward; Jango flipped the comms again. “ **_Ekari, Patri, hold your fire._ ** ”

The fighter caught sight of him and began firing, though he made for a small target, compared to a ship, and he didn’t make it easy on them, spinning and flying in a sort of zig-zag as he approached the ship.

“ **_Let’s get up there and help him!_ ** ” Jango heard someone shout, and the sound of jetpacks flaring to life surrounded him.

“ **_No! Jango, don’t let anyone come after me. I have a plan, but I’m going to have to use my ‘saber._ ** ”

_ Fuck _ . Into the comms, Jango barked, “ **_Stand down! Everyone head for the buildings; we’re taking the fight to_ ** **Kyr’tsad** **_. The shield won’t hold much longer, and we need to clean house. Get moving!_ ** ”

The prospect of having more of the footsoldiers to chase was enough to make them follow his orders, and he turned to stare up at Kenobi as he rose above the fighter before abruptly killing the jetpack, falling down onto the ship and grabbing on. Jango hissed through his clenched teeth.

He was loathe to just leave Kenobi to it, and Jango blinked in surprise at himself. He’d had no problem leaving Kenobi alone in Jabba’s throne room on Tatooine. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t been a few  _ hundred meters in the air _ , relying on a jetpack he didn’t know how to use and his ridiculous  _ Jetii _ magic to keep him alive.

Jango forced himself to turn away, pressing toward the front of the group as they moved the shield with them towards the buildings on the far end.

“ **_East and West Squads, take the flanking buildings. The rest of us, we’re going for the larger one in the center. Be careful; there may be a few who wish to surrender, and the_ ** **ade** **_are in there somewhere. Anyone belowground, assume friendly until you’re shot at._ ** ”

A chorus of acknowledgements came from the squad leaders, and they pressed forward. East and West squads broke off, and they deactivated the shield as they began streaming into the buildings

Jango did the honors, blowing open the door with a charge. He entered first, blaster at the ready, scanning the room for  _ Kyr’tsad _ . He saw none, and moved as quietly as possible into another room, turning to give hand signals to the  _ Mando’ade _ behind him, instructing them to fan out.

The empty room they’d entered in led to a long hallway; Jango slowly crept down the hall, checking each room he passed. They were bunks, mostly, and he could find no  _ Kyr’tsad _ in them. As he reached the end of the hall, there was a heavy metal door, and he took out another charge.

“ **_Squad 2, split up. Half of you check upstairs, the other half with me_ ** ,” Jango instructed. “ **_Squad 1, secure the main level. Post up at the windows and shoot any_ ** **Kyr’tsad** **_who come near_ ** .”

Another round of agreement from the squad leaders, and Jango pressed the charge to the door, moving back toward the  _ Mando’ade _ who had come up behind him. The door buckled and flew off of its hinges, the charge taking out part of the wall, and through the dust Jango could see a staircase leading down.

It was dark as he made his way down, the stairwell lit only by dim amber emergency lights. Finally, he reached the bottom, a small room leading to a long, similarly dark tunnel, made of thick, heavy stone bricks. Jango pushed on, wondering where the  _ Kyr’tsad _ could be hiding. There was no one in the hallway, no one in the building at all, it seemed; they had to be deeper in the tunnels.

Finally, he came to another door, and he nodded to the  _ Mando’ad  _ closest to him.

“ **_I’m out of charges_ ** ,” he said, stepping back. The  _ Mando’ad _ nodded back and placed one on the door, both of them turning away from the door. A moment later, the whole tunnel shook, dust flying up around them, and he turned back.

“ **_Oh, fuck,_ ** ” the  _ Mando’ad _ beside him breathed.

The room in front of them was large, and properly lit; there was another staircase, leading up to another hallway, and Jango wondered if that was where they had all disappeared to. But there, in the center of the room, was a  _ giant _ pile of explosives. Glancing at it, Jango estimated it would be enough to blow the entire building above them, if not the two beside it.

“ **_Squads upstairs: get out of the building_ ** **now,** ” Jango ordered tersely. “ **_We found explosives down here, and we don’t know what will set them off. Get clear. The rest of you already down here: half of you stay behind, try to figure out how to keep this from blowing us all to Manda. The rest of you, follow me._ ** ”

“ **_These tunnels weren’t in the reports Kryze gave us,_ ** ” one of the  _ Mando’ade _ coming up behind him said--Nogri Boross, he remembered after a moment. One of the squad leaders.

“ **_They must have expanded them; it’s easy to hide underground. Aerial surveillance couldn’t pick something like this up,_ ** ” Jango said. He switched over to the private comm channel connecting him to Kenobi as he started up the stairs. “ **_Ben, how’s it going up there?_ ** ”

It took a moment before he got a response; when he did, Kenobi sounded breathless. “ **_Never better,_ ** ” he quipped, and Jango grunted. He might have laughed, if he wasn’t still thinking about the explosives that could so easily send them all to their deaths in an instant.

“ **_Please tell me you’ve almost finished whatever your insane plan was. You heard the general channel?_ ** ”

“ **_I di--oh, fuck. Please, give me a moment._ ** ” Jango almost wanted to laugh at the incongruity of his swearing with that overly-polite manner of his. He shook his head and refocused on the moment, looking at the door at the top of the stairs as he reached it. He would have to override the lock; he didn’t want to risk blowing the door, not in such close range to such a tinderbox. Through the still-open comm, he could hear Kenobi grunt and then hiss, and he thought he heard the hum of his  _ Jetii’kad _ . “ **_Well, I have good news, and not-so-good news._ ** ”

Jango frowned as he drew the override out of one of his belt pouches, plugging it into the door’s control pad. “ **_Good news first. We could use some of that right now._ ** ”

“ **_The fighter has been dealt with,_ ** ” Kenobi said, and Jango could swear he heard the air whistling around him through the comm.

“ **_Bad news?_ ** ”

“ _ **It's**_ **_going to crash, and we’re coming in hot. I’m trying to do what I can control it, but I think we’re headed for the central building._ ** ”

“ **_...fuck_ ** ,” Jango said. “ **_Fuck._ ** ”

“ **_That was my sentiment also,_ ** ” Kenobi said, sounding perfectly jovial. Jango shook his head; the more people tried to kill him, the more  _ chipper _ Kenobi seemed to get. Clearly being a  _ Jetii _ didn’t help one’s sanity.

“ **_Do what you can, but bail before it hits,_ ** ” Jango ordered. Kenobi didn’t respond. “ **_Ben._ ** ”

“ **_I can’t let it hit that building, and you know it,_ ** ” Kenobi said. “ **_Don’t worry about me. I’ll handle it._ ** ”

Jango growled quietly. He knew Kenobi was right, but… He’d  _ known _ that this was going to be dangerous. They’d lost people already--good people. There was always the chance that Kenobi wouldn’t make it out of this, but the thought of him dying made a little more of his old, familiar  _ rage _ start to boil.

That was new.

He shook his head to clear it, growling at himself and switching back to the general channel.

“ **_Ben got the fighter, but it’s coming down hard. He’s trying to control it, but he thinks it might hit the central building. If it does, it may take this whole thing up. Everyone we can spare, get topside as fast as you can, and get clear._ ** ”

“ **_Ekari, Patri--do you still have the launchers?_ ** ” Kenobi asked, and Jango scowled. Surely he wouldn’t ask them to blow the ship while he was still clinging to it, trying to use the karking Force to direct its path...  Two voices answered “ **_yes,_ ** ” and Jango bit the inside of his cheek. He  _ knew _ that this was best, that it would save the most lives, but if he didn’t get clear before it blew--

“ **_Excellent. I’ll try to keep the ship as straight as possible, and I want you two to blow it before it can hit,_ ** ” Kenobi ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Still, Ekari spoke up. “ **_No! What if we hit you?_ ** ”

“ **_We don’t have a choice_ ** ,” Kenobi said flatly. “ **_I’ll let go as soon as I can and use the jetpack. Don’t concern yourselves with me, just blow the damn thing._ ** ”

Jango growled, but turned his attention back to the door as it clicked open. Disengaging the override and slipping it back into its pouch, he shouldered the door open, raising his blaster as he did so.

The instant he opened the door, blasters began firing.

“ **_Looks like we found ‘em_ ** ,” Nogri said dryly, moving to be beside him as another  _ Mando’ad _ flanked him. They could only advance three across through the tunnel, and they kept low, letting the three behind them fire over them. The tunnel advance wasn’t ideal; they were bottlenecked, and Jango heard the strained cries behind him as they started going down--but the  _ Kyr’tsad _ were bottlenecked, too, trying to defend the other end of the tunnel.

He saw them going down, catching one in the throat, another in the side, and the blaster bolts from around him hitting their targets. As the  _ Kyr’tsad _ dropped, their fellow soldiers tried to move the bodies out of the way; Jango aimed, and took the two of them out in quick succession.

Jango held up one fist, silently ordering the others to halt, and they stood their ground, firing at the  _ Kyr’tsad _ who came forward. He quickly lost count of how many they’d felled, but the bodies began to stack up near the other end of the tunnel, falling on top of each other in a grotesque mass of limp limbs and clinking  _ beskar’gam _ . Around him, he heard the same grunts and hisses, and a few wet-sounding gasps. He clenched his jaw, knowing that he still couldn’t take his attention from those in front of him to see to the injured.

“ **_This is East team,_ ** ” someone called over the comms, sounding grim. “ **_We found S-Squad. What… what’s left of them, anyway. Looks like more explosives._ ** ”

**_Fucking_ ** Hels, could this get any worse? “ **_Any sign of the_ ** **ade** **_?_ ** ”

“ **Nayc** **_._ ** ”

**_Fuck._ ** Apparently, it  _ could _ get worse.

“ **_Keep looking. Send as many as you can spare topside; if this tunnel blows, there are enough explosives down here to bring down your side of the tunnels with it._ ** ”

“ **_Understood._ ** ”

Finally, the waves of  _ Kyr’tsad _ at the other end let up, and Jango motioned them all forward. Their advance was quiet, this time; Jango wanted badly to glance back, to see how many of them there still were, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Strategically, it would be helpful to know their numbers, but he didn’t think he’d be able to shake the  _ guilt _ if he knew how many had fallen. He would just have to pray to the  _ ka’ra _ that there were enough of them left.

Finally, they entered into another larger room. A huddle of  _ Kyr’tsad _ stood there, hands in the air, blasters pointed at the ceiling.

“ **_Drop your weapons,_ ** **slowly** **_,_ ** ” Jango ordered, swapping over to his external speakers. They moved to comply, setting the blasters down and kicking them away, keeping their hands in the air. Jango counted twelve of them. Slowly, the one closest to the fore reached down to pull off their helmet, and Jango sucked in a breath. Red hair, pale skin, large eyes, pretty face-- “ **_Bo-Katan._ ** ”

There was a tense moment as Bo-Katan slowly situated her  _ buy’ce _ underneath her left arm, and then she crossed her right fist over her chest,  _ beskar _ clanking on  _ beskar _ . “ _ Mand’alor _ .”

“ **_Where are the_ ** **ade** **_?_ ** ”

Bo-Katan grimaced. “With Vizla. They used another set of tunnels to head back up to the surface; he’s leading you in circles.”

“ **_And the explosives in the other room?_ ** ”

“He has the detonator,” she said. “I didn’t know about any of this until today. Turns out he didn’t trust me as much as I thought.”

_ Smart man, _ Jango thought, but he simply nodded curtly. “ **_Do you know how to reach the_ ** **ade** **_?_ ** ”

Bo-Katan nodded. “The other set of tunnels is through that trapdoor over there.” She pointed towards one corner, and then paused, tensing. “I can lead you. It’s a maze from here, full of false turns and dead ends. If you don’t know the way, you’ll never reach them in time.”

Jango considered it for a moment before nodding again. “ **_You go in front. The rest of you, fall in between the rest of our group. Bring your blasters._ ** ” Toggling back over to their communication channel, cutting of his exterior speaker, he added, “ **_The rest of you, shoot them if they so much as look at you wrong._ ** ”

“ **_We got a hit! The fighter is in pieces now. One problem down,_ ** ” Ekari said, youthful exuberance overriding his concern for Kenobi. As Jango followed Bo-Katan over to the corner, watching her stomp on one of the stones, causing a square of stones beside it to slide aside, revealing a ladder.

“ **_Do you have eyes on Ben?_ ** ” Jango asked.

There was a tense moment of silence, and then Patri said: “ **_Elek, but… he’s just_ ** **falling** **_._ ** ”

Jango swore under his breath, too quietly to be picked up by his mic. Trusting that someone with a jetpack would have enough sense to try to catch him, or that Kenobi would gather his wits and use his  _ Force _ , he forced himself to focus on Bo-Katan, scaling down the ladder after her.

“Vizla only took a small guard with him,” she said. “Enough to keep the kids in line. The rest have either evacuated, or they’ll meet up in a separate group on the surface.”

“ **_Where on the surface will we come out?_ ** ”

“Near the north side of the training grounds,” Bo-Katan answered. She glanced back at Jango even as they continued on through the halls. “I’m sorry the plans changed. Vizla gave us orders, and stuck close. There were too many for us to take on alone--we couldn’t have disobeyed, although we dropped as many as we could when you started pressing forward through the tunnel.”

Jango inclined his head slightly. “ **_Help us kill him, and I’ll consider us even on that score._ ** ”

Bo-Katan huffed a laugh, baring her teeth, and shook her head. “As if I need any more incentive to kill that  _ dar’manda shabuir _ . We’re going to be taking a right up here.”

* * *

It took almost twenty minutes for them to get through the tunnels before they finally reached another ladder, leading up to a sealed hatch with another control panel. Jango started to reach for his override again, but Bo-Katan was already punching in the code. The hatch opened, and Jango heard fighting outside, all of them having circled back to the training ground. He wondered how they’d missed the hatch in the first place, until he saw the pile of dirt and sod beside it. They must have had it covered before Vizla used it after they’d already passed it by. Slippery bastard.

Emerging back into the open air, Jango scanned the battlefield: there were still distinct squads of  _ Mando’ade _ , which was promising, indicating that enough of them had survived to maintain the structure. There were  _ Kyr’tsad _ everywhere, but they were grouped in ragged little bands, still falling.

Still, Jango saw  _ beskar’gam _ gleaming on the field, lying motionless in the mud, that were not  _ Kyr’tsad _ . They had lost people--they were  _ still _ losing people. They needed to do something, and they needed to do it quickly.

Namely, they needed to find Vizla--Jango glanced around, but the  _ hu’tuun _ was still hiding from them.

“ **_Ben, you out here?_ ** ” Jango called hopefully.

“ **_East side,_ ** ” came the clipped, breathless reply. Jango let out a quiet  _ woosh _ of air, taking aim at the nearest  _ Kyr’tsad _ .

“ **_Glad you’re not dead yet,_ ** ” he said lightly, and Kenobi snorted. “ **_Pre Vizla hasn’t shown himself yet. We need to find him--he has the_ ** **ade** **_with him. Can you help?_ ** ”

“ **_I think so. I’ll need to retreat from the fighting for a moment,_ ** ” he said.

Bo-Katan turned to Jango; she had replaced her  _ buy’ce _ , so he couldn’t see her expression, but she tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Is this the same Ben my sister knew?” she asked, and Jango scowled.

“ **_Yes._ ** ”

She nodded slowly. “Good. I remember what he’s capable of.”

Relief flooded Jango at that--for the moment, anyway. He knew that he would have to take her aside and impress upon her the importance of not revealing Kenobi’s true identity--he might have made an exception for one  _ Jetii _ , but he knew that many of the  _ Mando’ade _ were still bitter about Galidraan. Add to that Kenobi’s own vague warnings that the Council of his Order didn’t want  _ Jetii _ involvement to be publicly known in this, and they had very good reasons to keep their mouths shut.

He saw Kenobi’s black-and-silver form retreating behind another squad, and he nodded, content for the moment. Kneeling again, he raised his blaster and took aim at the  _ Kyr’tsad _ across the field, too occupied with the other squads to turn towards them. It was easy enough to pick them off.

“ **_I found him, but we have a problem._ ** ”

Jango growled and took another shot, hitting one of the  _ Kyr’tsad  _ in the stomach between their armor plates. “ **_What_ ** **now** **_?_ ** ”

“ **_The_ ** **ade** **_are not with him._ ** ”

The distinctive sound of a jetpack flared, and Jango looked up. There, rising over the central building, was a man in  _ Kyr’tsad _ armor, and in one hand, already ignited, was the  _ Dha’Beskad _ . There was no doubt that this was Pre Vizla.

The fighting seemed to slow as he lowered himself down to an empty space of ground; Jango realized he was holding something else in his other hand, most likely the detonator.

“Well, well, well. You’ve put up a good fight, Fett,” Vizla said. Jango bristled at the sheer  _ arrogance _ in his voice. “A surprisingly good fight, given that your comrades were all killed because of you long ago. These meager replacements are no real match for us.”

A cheap shot, to be sure, and although the reminder of Galidraan still sent that icy spear of bitter guilt and hate and  _ anger _ through him, but he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time--he couldn’t afford to let Vizla get under his skin.

“ **_I have a plan,_ ** ” Kenobi said again, over the general channel this time.

“ **_Is it as bad as all your other plans?_ ** ” Jango asked, even as he began to stride forward, intending to at least face Vizla like a man. There was comfort, at least, in the knowledge that if Vizla blew this place to  _ Manda _ , he would be going with them.

Kenobi laughed. “ **_My plans are wonderful, thank you._ ** ” More seriously, he added, “ **_We just need to get Vizla to challenge_ ** **you** **_._ ** ”

Jango took a deep breath. Kenobi might have a point, there--whether they were  _ Kyr’tsad _ or  _ Mando’ade _ , both at least  _ claimed _ to follow the  _ Resol’nare _ . And according to their tenets, there could only be one  _ Mand’alor _ . To determine  _ who _ would be the true  _ Mand’alor _ , the  _ Dah’Beskad _ was usually the deciding factor.

“ **_I’ll challenge him, then._ ** ” Jango stepped forward again, striding towards Vizla, and the still-open area around him. Toggling on his exterior speaker again, Jango called out: “ **_Where are the_ ** **ade** **_?_ ** ”

Vizla laughed, a rough, mocking sound. “Still down in the tunnels. You didn’t think that I actually  _ trusted _ Bo-Katan, did you? If you… misbehave, they’ll all be blown to bits. Along with the rest of us. Are you ready to surrender now?”

Jango growled, too low for his mic to pick up, and his hands clenched around his blaster. “ **_What kind of_ ** **hu’tuun** **_hides behind_ ** **ade** **_? What kind of_ ** **dar’manda** **_would_ ** **harm ade** **_?_ ** ” The crowd murmured, and Jango smiled. “ **_You believe you should be the_ ** **Mand’alor** **_. I believe you’re a pretender, not worthy of the_ ** **Dha’Beskad** **_you wield. If you have_ ** **any** **_semblance of honor, we should finish this. Between us._ ** ”

Vizla paused, and for a moment, Jango was worried he wouldn’t take the bait. But then he threw his head back and laughed, spreading his arms wide, the  _ Dah’Beskad _ whirring as it swirled in the air.

“As you wish,” Vizla said, “but I won’t make this  _ easy _ on you.” He held up his left hand, holding the detonator control. Jango sucked in a breath, feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach, when he pressed it. “You have fifteen minutes before all those poor,  _ sweet  _ children are taken to  _ Manda _ . Do you think that’s enough time to defeat me?”

His tone was mocking, but Jango felt no heated anger at his words, only cold dread, and fear-- _ terror _ , actually.

“ **_I can save them,_ ** ” Kenobi said immediately. “ **_I’ll go down to the tunnels--even if they collapse, I can hold it long enough. I can sense the_ ** **ade** **_. You focus on Vizla. I’ll dampen the blast, if it comes. Whichever ten of you have the best knowledge of explosives, come with me. We’ll try to defuse it; if we can’t, I’ll hold the blast back, and you lead the_ ** **ade** **_to safety._ ** ”

It was a good plan, but Jango grimaced as one of the  _ Mando’ade _ asked, “ **_Hold the tunnel? How?_ ** ”

“ **_We don’t have time for that. Trust me, I can do this. Just follow me. We’ll go around the west building; its tunnel entrance is nearest to where the_ ** **ade** **_are._ ** ”

“ **_Do as he says,_ ** ” Jango ordered gruffly, still stalking towards Vizla.

“ **_One more thing,_ ** ” Kenobi said. “ **_I’m trusting you with this._ ** ”

Jango looked over just as Kenobi threw something at him. He recognized it immediately, the slim, silver, gleaming cylinder spinning towards him. He dropped his blaster and grabbed the  _ Jetii’kad _ with both hands. He continued walking towards Vizla; only a few meters away, he widened his stance, crouching slightly, and ignited it, the bolt of blue answering the black.

“Oh my, what do we have here?” Vizla asked, tossing the now-useless detonator aside to clasp his left hand over his chest in mock shock. “A  _ lightsaber _ ? A weapon of the  _ Jedi Order _ ? Are you a  _ traitor _ , Fett, as well as a pretender?”

Jango did not speak, and he did not move. He would have to hope that his actions--and Kenobi’s--spoke for them, and the  _ Mando’ade _ would not turn against him. Not  _ now _ .

Sensing that he would not be able to goad Jango further, Vizla growled and leapt forward, engaging his jetpack for just a moment to cross the space in an instant. He killed the jetpack and used the downward momentum to bring the  _ Dah’Beskad _ against Kenobi’s ‘saber. Jango held fast, his stance helping him to absorb the force of the blow. He thrust forward, driving their blades apart, and Vizla took a step back.

They circled each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Jango had trained with  _ beskad’e _ \--he was no stranger to any type of weapon available to him. But he had never before actually  _ wielded _ a  _ Jetii’kad _ , and it suddenly hit him how much  _ faith _ Kenobi must have in him, lending him his weapon for this fight.

Vizla, he could tell, was not as well-trained as Kenobi--though he doubted few people were. Neither of them had the grace of a natural swordsman, though they were far better than average, having trained so intensively. Vizla was all fire and aggression, raining down blows as quickly as he could.

Jango kept his breathing even, trying to recall what he’d seen of Kenobi before. During the fighting in Jabba’s palace, he had fought almost like Vizla, all strong blows and sweeping strikes, though with far more precision. But later on, when they were cleaning up Mos Eisley, he had been calmer, defensive, deflecting blaster bolts in a steady stream. He had been all water, a steady, fluid stream of movement in the face of the fiery aggression of Jabba’s hired thugs.

He channeled as much as he could of Kenobi, then. Jango recalled his practice with Shmi, with their staffs and their own  _ beskad’e _ , purposefully falling into defensive patterns with her so that she could practice attacks. Vizla was not so different from Shmi--well, at least not in the way that he fought. There was so much  _ passion _ there, but it was so  _ angry  _ and rough. There was little precision to it, making it easy to predict Vizla’s movements, as it had been with Shmi.

Jango led Vizla around in circles, always stepping back, allowing him to press forward. He was  _ mostly  _ able to parry Vizla’s blows, although he hissed and jumped back as Vizla caught his arm, just where the upper armor ended above his elbow. Still, he did not falter, waiting for Vizla to tire. Anger, aggression,  _ hate _ \--those were powerful, but they burned hot and quick. Jango had determination and  _ justice _ on his side, and he would wait for Vizla to flag, wait for him to make a mistake.

At the thought, there was a strange  _ thrum _ from the  _ Jetii’kad _ in his hands at the thought. Jango almost thought that the blade burned a bit  _ brighter _ after that, although he knew that was ridiculous.

Sweat was dripping down his face, under his  _ buy’ce _ , but still he continued to restraining himself to predicting Vizla’s movements and blocking him. Vizla was a touch faster than he was, with his added advantage of youth, but Jango was the more experienced, and he saw what Vizla telegraphed clearly. He knew where the man would move, bringing the  _ Dah’Beskad _ down for a strike, across for a slash, up for a jab, and he blocked nearly each one.

Jango sank into the rhythm of battle, this kind of head-to-head fighting almost as trance-inducing as a long, hard spar.

“ **_We found the_ ** **ade** **_. Four of you, start leading them out as quick as you can. The other six, work on defusing the bomb. I will remain here, with the rest of the_ ** **ade,** ” Kenobi’s voice called over the comms. The news was a soothing balm to Jango’s nerves, and he threw himself into the fight with renewed determination.

Jango knew that this fight would determine what kind of world those  _ ade _ rose up to from below.

He grew faster, sharper--he knew he was expending his energy more quickly, now, and he watched, hawk-eyed, waiting for Vizla to make a mistake.

And there it was: he raised the  _ Dah’Beskad _ over his head with both hands. Jango stepped forward, rather than back, and brought Kenobi’s  _ Jetii’kad _ across in an even  _ slash,  _ catching Vizla between his cuirass and codpiece. The familiar stench of seared flesh filtered through his helmet, and Jango watched as Vizla staggered back, falling down to one knee, clutching at his abdomen, blood seeping between his fingers almost instantly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vizla said. “We will both die here today. Your life will end as a mere  _ footnote _ in the history of Mandalore, and those children will become  _ martyrs _ to the cause of the Death Watch.”

Jango did not reply, merely stepping forward and bringing the  _ Jetii’kad _ to bear again. He struck out, but Vizla caught it with the  _ Dah’Beskad _ \--but his grip was one-handed and weak. Jango batted it aside and slashed again.

Vizla’s head,  _ buy’ce _ and all, fell to the ground.

For a moment, there was perfect silence, only Jango’s own heavy breathing filling the quiet--and then the ground shook.

“ **_The bomb went off,_ ** ” a panicked, breathy voice said. “ **_Osik, we haven’t gotten all of the kids out!_ ** ”

“ **_It will hold,_ ** ” Kenobi assured them. “ **_Get the_ ** **ade** **_to safety._ ** ”

“ **_But--_ ** ”

“ **_Go! And everyone on the surface, get as far away as you can._ ** **Now.** ”

No one needed telling twice. As one, jetpacks ignited, rising up into the air as they fled the compound; those without jetpacks began running. Jango wanted to head back toward the tunnels, to help somehow, but he knew that there was no  _ time _ , and nothing he could do. Nogri grabbed his arm roughly--Jango reached down to grab the  _ Dah’Beskad _ before allowing himself to be pulled along.

They ran and ran and ran until they were nearly half a klik from the camp, close to their original landing points. Jango was out of breath, his lungs burning, and he turned, panting hard, as he watched the compound desperately.

“ **_We’ve got the last of the_ ** **ade** **_out,_ ** ” Bo-Katan said. Of course she had helped. Jango made a mental note to tell her she was forgiven, if she lived through this. Well,  _ mostly _ forgiven. She’d be on a tight leash for a long, long time.

“ **_I can hold it for another few minutes,_ ** ” Kenobi insisted. “ **_Get them as far away as you can._ ** ”

West squads, closest to the tunnel entrance the children were coming out of, had coordinated, and they were using their jetpacks to fly them out two at a time. Jango watched as they flew away, over the other side of the compound walls, towards the high mountains behind them.

After another tense minute or so, the call came: “ **_We’re all clear._ ** ”

“ **_Oh, good,_ ** ” Kenobi sighed. He sounded… tired.

A moment later, a shockwave rippled through the ground, and Jango could do nothing but watch as the buildings collapsed, the walls around the compound shuddered, and the earth caved in--on top of Kenobi.

* * *

Jango lost time, after that, his mind going perfectly  _ blank _ . One moment, he was standing on solid--if shaking--ground, watching the compound crumble, knowing that Kenobi was under it,  _ somewhere _ , and the next--

The next moment that he consciously remembered, Jango was standing over Kenobi. The  _ Jetii  _ was laid out on the grass, covered in dirt and dust and  _ bleeding _ , several large dents in his  _ beskar’gam _ .

Their medics approached, though they did not try to move Jango. He knelt down and pulled off Kenobi’s helmet; the copper of his hair was marred, growing sticky with dark red blood. His eyes were closed, his face pale, his breathing shallow. There was a large dent in his cuirass, and Jango prayed that it hadn’t broken ribs, that he hadn’t punctured a lung when he was buried.

“Ben,” Jango said, peering down at him. “ _ Ben. _ Wake up. You don’t get to do this--you’re not leaving. You have Anakin, remember? Shmi will never forgive you if you leave her son all alone.” Still, Kenobi did not stir, his face so white it was almost  _ grey _ , and Jango felt a steadily rising sense of  _ panic _ . “Come on, just  _ wake up _ . Just open your eyes for a  _ second _ , that’s all we need.” Still nothing. Jango growled, watching as Kenobi’s breathing grew shallower. “Come on,  _ vod _ . You don’t get to do this.  _ Vod _ , just open your eyes.”

“ _ Mand’alor _ \--” one of the medics started. He was interrupted by a choked, wheezing cough from Kenobi, his head turning from side to side as his eyes fluttered open. His pupils were uneven, Jango noted with worry, but he was  _ responding. _

“Cody,” Kenobi said, his eyes semi-focused on Jango. He reached one hand up, a bloody finger lightly tracing the scar on his cheek. “Scar’s supposed to be above your other eye.”

A hoarse laugh tore itself from Jango’s throat; he was too  _ relieved _ to wonder who he had been mistaken for. “You’re just concussed,  _ vod _ . It’s Jango.”

Kenobi blinked, his gaze trying valiantly to refocus on Jango’s face. A small, pleased smile crossed his face. It would have been a pleasant expression, but for the blood staining his teeth. “Called me ‘ _ vod _ ,” he murmured.

“You earned it,” Jango said stiffly. “We’ll fix you up. You’ve got Anakin to get back to.” Something  _ sad  _ and  _ lost _ flickered across Kenobi’s expression, then, and Jango frowned. “That boy adores you. He’d hate me if you died.”

“Jedi don’t hate,” Kenobi wheezed, a wry little smile on his face even as he paused to cough, more blood tainting his spittle, “we merely become  _ severely annoyed _ .”

With that, his eyes rolled up in his head, his eyelids fluttering closed. Jango grimaced, the knowledge that Kenobi might die warring with the elation that they had  _ done it _ \-- _ Kyr’tsad _ still lived, of course, but they were scattered. Pre Vizla had been their leader, and who knew how many had only followed him because he had possessed the  _ Dah’Beskad _ , and there had been no other  _ Mand’alor _ to look to for far too long.

The  _ ade _ were saved, and they had  _ won _ .

But there would be no hiding what Kenobi was, now--Hels, he’d just  _ admitted it  _ in front of about six  _ Mando’ade _ . He wondered how many of the  _ Mando’ade _ would follow him after this, after realizing that Pre Vizla had been  _ right _ . Kenobi was a  _ Jetii _ , and Jango  _ was _ a traitor.


	9. Siri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to everyone who's left kudos, comments, bookmarked the story, and subscribed! I'm seriously amazed by how much attention this story has gotten. For something I just started writing for myself for a laugh, this has turned into a ridiculously awesome introduction to the Star Wars fandom!
> 
> Siri is difficult for me to write since I've never actually read any of the Star Wars novels. My only exposure to her has been Wookiepedia and other fanfiction, so please let me know how I did! :)

It was hard to know, sometimes, if Siri loved or hated her work. Oh, she  _ knew _ , of course she  _ knew _ , that Jedi weren’t supposed to  _ hate _ , but… Most Jedi tended to fall into  _ disaffected pity _ when faced with those who were cruel. And at first, Siri  _ had _ felt some sort of pity for Krayn’s people. Back then, just starting out in this insane operation, she had been dealing with petty drug dealers. They weren’t murderers, and they weren’t slavers. Usually, they were either poor, and had no other marketable skills to earn an honest living, and so they turned to this sort of work, or they were addicts themselves who were in far too deep to get out. It was easy to pity those people.

But then Siri had risen higher in the organization. The more she saw, the more… hardened her heart became. She watched a supplier kill a dealer he  _ suspected _ had ripped them off, in cold blood, with no evidence, and then she helped him hide the body. Siri rose higher still, and she saw the plants where they manufactured the drugs, and how they had drugged and abused the slaves they kept to manufacture it for them, and she had sneered at them and turned away. And then she became Krayn’s right hand, his most reliable and discreet employee, and she’d seen a Hel of a lot more murder and abuse.

And Siri  _ hated him _ . She hated him for what he’d done. She hated that she was on this assignment, and she hated having to see those things. But Siri also knew that  _ someone  _ had to do this, someone had to  _ be there _ to witness these crimes, to eventually take them all down, to put an end to the suffering they caused, and Siri… Siri would have  _ hated _ for anyone else to have to suffer, seeing this. Certainly more than she hated being here.

It had been a  _ long _ two years. Siri missed the Temple so much she cried, sometimes, late at night when she knew no one else would hear. She missed her friends, and she missed her Master, and she hated that people like Krayn existed to make missions like this necessary.

Somehow, it got both easier and harder each day. As Siri settled into Zora’s skin, as she helped drug smugglers bypass checkpoints, as she paid off corrupt officials, as she stood there and watched Krayn’s men break bone after bone in a man’s body, Siri began to grow  _ accustomed _ to it. She stoped flinching when she heard bones break. She started laughing reflexively when she heard security officers ordering them to “freeze,” as if that had ever actually  _ stopped a criminal _ . She stopped recognizing herself, and  _ that _ was probably the worst part of all of it.

But she was  _ so close _ , now. She just needed Krayn to trust her enough to take her to one more meeting, just one, with whoever his contact was, the higher-up in the Republic government that kept him in business. Once they had  _ that _ information, Siri could go home.

And she was  _ so close _ . Siri used to meditate on the Code, as all Jedi were supposed to; now, “soon” was the only mantra that could soothe the  _ anger _ and  _ hate _ she felt growing every day.

* * *

It had been yet another long day when Siri got back to her apartment. A boring day, actually--there were surprisingly many of those, when one was running a high-level drug manufacturing organization. Details such as supply chain management and logistics, factory floor management, and other tasks that were shared with normal,  _ legal _ businesses were still  _ important _ , and as Krayn’s most trusted and valued employee, Siri had the  _ pleasure _ of handling it with him.

Siri shut the door behind her with undue force and sighed, stretching to try to work out the kinks in her back. It didn’t work--it never did. She was always so  _ tense _ during the day, surrounded by so much  _ misery-hate-anger-pain _ in the Force from the slaves and the slavers alike. Sighing, Siri shucked off her boots before heading for the cooling unit, pulling out an ale and popping the cap, downing half of it at once.

Setting the drink on the counter, she made her way into the bedroom. Standing on the bed, she reached for the air vent and lifted the grate, pulling her secure commlink out of its hiding place. She took a quick look, expecting nothing, as usual.

The light was blinking, and Siri blinked back at it. She had a  _ message _ \--an important one, if they had risked comming her instead of using their usual dead drop method for passing information back and forth.

Slowly, she hooked the comm onto her belt and replaced the grate. Heading back into the living room, she leaned against the kitchen counter, picking her drink back up before playing the message.

“ _ We’re pulling you. It’s nothing you did, but we need you here. Your ride home will pick you up in five days. We aren’t scrapping the op; we need you to find a way to get out clean in that time. We’ll meet in the usual place. Remember: five days. _ ”

Siri stared at the commlink in her hand.

_ Five days _ .

She had thought--she had  _ hoped _ \--that she would get out of this soon. Siri had  _ wanted _ to go back. She  _ wanted _ to be Siri Tachi again, and not look in the mirror and see Zora.  _ Soon _ .

But not this soon.

Five  _ fucking _ days, and then Krayn would be someone else’s responsibility. Someone else’s  _ burden _ .

And Siri felt as if every bit of suffering she’d done here had meant  _ nothing _ , because she hadn’t stopped Krayn, she hadn’t found his benefactor, and she hadn’t prevented  _ good people _ from having to suffer through this just like she had.

With a wordless snarl, Siri flung the commlink away, leaving it on the floor, not quite certain where it had landed. She didn’t care. Slamming the rest of her drink, she set the empty bottle on the counter with undue force; it cracked, but didn’t shatter. Hastily pulling her boots back on, Siri left the apartment.

She had contacts to meet, and only five days to plan.

* * *

Siri watched from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with her arms folded over her chest, as Krayn sighed and shook his head at whatever missive he was reading.

“Our main supplier for our most important raw materials is being wooed by the Hutts,” Krayn said, tossing the datapad down onto the desk. Siri wanted to scowl; the man was so  _ paranoid _ , he never said anything that would actually incriminate him if he were being recorded. Of course, Siri  _ wasn’t _ recording him, the Order wasn’t  _ that _ reckless with its Knights, but it still grated on her.

But then, was it really paranoia if someone actually  _ was _ after you?

“What’s the play?” Siri asked. Krayn hummed and spun slowly in his chair to face her.

“What do you think we should do?”

Siri frowned thoughtfully. “We don’t want a war with the Hutts. I don’t know who our… ‘shareholders’ are, but I doubt they’d want to continue to support us if we pick a fight with the Hutts. They’re out for blood, since they lost Tatooine, and half the Outer Rim after that. They’ll do whatever it takes to wipe us off the map if we oppose them.”

“And what other option is there?” Krayn asked. Siri felt familiar, bitter  _ anger _ at the question. He didn’t sound curious, only calm, as if he were a Master leading her towards a particular conclusion he’d already assessed and formed an opinion on.

“Bypass the supplier and go straight to the Hutts,” Siri said with a shrug. “The Hutts won’t listen to threats of violence, or violence itself; they know we don’t have the manpower for an all-out war, and they have enough coin to hire mercs. We don’t.

“Trying to use our political contacts to smooth things over would take longer than we have--our production is still down after the pipeline disruption on Ansion. We can’t afford to waste time while our supplier negotiates with them.

“But there’s one thing the Hutts will listen to that we can provide: profits. I suggest we offer them a partnership. Perhaps involving them by making them the supplier for our workforce would appease them, and provide a revenue stream for them, and greater security for us. Our current contacts have been dropping like flies, lately. But the Hutts aren’t going anywhere.”

Krayn looked at her for a moment, and then smiled, nodding. He looked genuinely  _ fond _ and  _ pleased _ with her, and it made Siri’s skin crawl. Outwardly, she simply smiled at him in turn--more of a smirk, really, but it was all she could manage. He didn’t seem to mind.

“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “We’ll invite them, or their emissary, to join us for a meeting. Make the arrangements, Zora.”

Siri nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

Two days had passed since Siri had received that message when the representative of the Hutts arrived. The man was a Duros, armed to the teeth and sporting a decidedly non-negotiator-like air. He had a wide-brimmed hat and long duster, and should have looked ridiculous, but somehow it seemed to suit him. He was flanked by two large, fully-armored, humanoid beings. Siri couldn’t tell what they were, with their helms on.

“You Zora?” the Duros barked at her.

“Who else would I be?” Siri asked, rolling her eyes. The Duros snorted. “Yeah. I’m Zora. What do I call you?”

“Bane,” he said simply. Zora nodded.

“Come on. I’ve got a speeder that’ll seat four.” Bane nodded and followed her to the speeder she had parked around the corner. The coordinates Siri had given them had landed their ship on the outskirts of the city, on the other side from the factory, to make sure their escape wasn’t quick, if this all went south.

The two guards with Bane never took their hands off their blasters, though they had the courtesy to point them at the floor of the speeder, fingers hovering near, but not on, the triggers. As Siri drove, she glanced at Bane occasionally, making sure she knew what he was doing through every moment of the drive. He sat with his elbow on the edge of the door, his hand casually dangling in front of him, and he seemed to simply be taking in the sights--probably doing quiet threat assessments of everything and everyone they passed.

“How long have you worked for the Hutt Syndicate?” Siri asked. Bane hummed.

“A few months now.”

“Yeah? How’s it going?”

Bane chuckled. “Well, I’m still alive, and the credits are good. Think I might stay for a while. Haven’t had a steady job in years. The change is good.”

“Were you a merc?”

Bane shook his head. “Bounty hunter.”

“Ah,” Siri said, a slow, toothy grin spreading over her face. “You ever work with Fett?”

Bane snorted. “Once or twice. For the Hutts, actually.”

“He as good as they say?”

Bane was quiet for a moment, as if mulling over the question. “He’s good.”

“Heard he was part of the mess on Tatooine. The uprising.”

Bane scoffed. “Wrong place, wrong time. He was trying to turn in a bounty on a Jedi, but the slaves had planned a revolt for the same day--exactly the sort of luck Fett always has. It was absolute chaos, and all he could do to get out alive and without looking like he’d double-crossed a contract--that’s bad news, in the Guild.”

Siri laughed. “I can see why you’d want to get out of that business. It sounds exhausting.”

“It has its charms,” Bane said dryly. Siri snorted and shook her head.

“I like you,” she announced suddenly. “And because I like you, I’m gonna give you a warning. Krayn really  _ does  _ want this negotiation to go well. But he’s… uncompromising. If he’s not getting what he wants out of a deal, and you don’t back down, he has no qualms about ordering a hit on you. If it comes to that, he’s planning to pin it on the supplier the Hutts approached. Make it look like he got greedy and wanted to deal with the Hutts himself, trying to stop us from making a deal.”

Bane stared at her for a moment, and then tilted his head. “Why tell me this?”

Siri shrugged. “I told you: I like you. I think you’re decent, and smart. I’ve got a good intuition for these things. And I’d rather avoid bloodshed, if I can. Especially bloodshed that would put us on very thin ice with the Hutts.”

Bane hummed; it could have been a chuckle. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that. Appreciate the warning.”

* * *

One more day. Siri had one day to get out clean before her extraction team came.

Thankfully, she had a plan. She might have gotten away with simply disappearing--the chance that she’d be assumed dead, and simply unrecovered was high. But then the Hutts had stepped in, and Siri had met Cad Bane. She had a…  _ feeling  _ about him.

For the last few days, Siri had made sure that the negotiations did  _ not _ go well. When they were all seated at a table in a private room of a swanky restaurant, Siri was solicitous, but quiet. She did not try to take the lead, or interject her opinion. She was the perfect bridge between Krayn and Bane: equally polite to them both, equally deferential, equally supportive.

But once Bane left, and she and Krayn went back to his office to discuss the day’s negotiations… Siri let loose. She could rant for  _ hours _ about how untrustworthy the Hutts were, how greedy.  _ He _ had built this empire, she reminded him, and now the Hutts wanted to come in and either steal his supplies and put him out of business, or demand the lion’s share of his proceeds? After  _ he _ had formed this web of contacts that kept him in business, after  _ he _ had built up the client base and reputation, after  _ he _ had  _ fought _ to create something so vast?

It had worked. Siri had stoked his anger, and she knew he wouldn’t make an agreement with the Hutts. And at the end of their meeting that day, Bane had looked like he’d known it, too.

And now here Siri was, outside Bane’s hotel room. She smiled at one of the guards. He didn’t move.

“I’d like to see Bane.”

The guard turned away and opened the door, using his body to stop her from seeing the combination to the lock on the door. He shut the door behind him, and Siri turned her smile on the remaining guard. She said nothing, knowing that he wouldn’t respond, but she made direct eye contact as they stood there, her smile slowly growing. She could just  _ feel _ his tension.

After a minute or so, the door opened again, the guard who had entered holding it open for her. She winked at the guard she’d been smiling at and then sauntered into Bane’s room.

It was  _ huge _ , with two different sitting areas, a full kitchen, and two hallways on either side leading to multiple bedrooms, she guessed. Bane was in the kitchen, mixing drinks. She approached him and sat down on one of the barstools at the counter.

“Nice digs.”

Bane smirked and poured something glowing green into the cups in front of him. “The perks of a semi-legitimate gig: expense reports.”

Siri laughed and shook her head. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come.”

Bane glanced up and smirked at her, shaking his head. “No. I already know.”

“Oh?”

“The negotiations aren’t going well,” Bane said flatly. “We all know it. Your boss is as… ‘uncompromising’ as you said he would be. I’m guessing this is your warning that he’s getting ready to put out a hit on me.”

Siri hummed. “Close.”

Bane frowned at her before topping off the drinks, a beautifully swirled green and blue color, with a few shakes of some sort of white powder.

“Drink up.” He placed one of them in front of her, and she raised an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the bag of loose powder. Bane rolled his eyes. “Sugar.”

Siri snorted and shrugged, tasting the drink. She hummed in satisfaction; this was  _ delicious _ .

“I have a plan,” Siri said. “It’s… ridiculous, but I think it’ll work.” Bane tilted his head thoughtfully, exaggerated by the slant of his wide hat. He then jerked his head towards one of the sitting areas, away from the front door. They settled themselves down on opposite ends of one couch, and Bane gestured at her to continue.

“I need to get out of Krayn’s operation,” she said. Bane’s frown deepened. “It’s… personal. My family needs me right now, but… well, Krayn is the sort of boss I’d rather not let know that I even  _ have _ a family.” Bane nodded slowly, the concept of blackmail and threats so familiar to him that what Siri had tried to imply, while still telling the  _ truth _ , was an easy conclusion for him to draw. “Here’s what we do: you stage a hit on me. We’ll fake my death and pin it on you; I have recordings of Krayn, when he was talking about killing  _ you _ , and framing Jzass. He wasn’t specific though, he just said ‘if someone were to die in the course of these negotiations, it would certainly put a damper on  _ anyone’s  _ dealings with the Hutts.’”

Bane hummed, swirling his drink in his glass. He took a large sip. “Why would Krayn think I would want to have you killed?”

Siri grinned wolfishly at him. “Because I tried to kill you. You were just defending yourself.” Bane tilted his head again, and Siri laughed. “In an enterprising, but misguided, attempt to help Krayn and gain more of his trust, I decided to go rogue and  _ end _ his little problem with the Hutts, jumping the gun on his own plan before he gave the order. Of course, you fought back. And you won.”

Bane snorted. “You’re too smart for that. I’ve known you for three days, and I realize you’re no idiot. Will your people really think you did something so stupid?”

Siri shrugged and sighed dramatically. “People tend to do stupid things, when they’re in love.” She shook her head. “Half of the organization think I’m ass over tits for Krayn.”

Bane simply stared at her for a long moment, and then he nodded. “I’ll need to search you. To make sure you don’t have any tracking or recording devices.”

Siri shrugged. “As expected. You need to make sure I’m not still working for Krayn, and pinning the onus of the failed negotiations on you and your underhanded plays. I get it.”

Bane nodded sharply and set his drink down on the glass caff table. “Wait here. I’ll get a scanner.”

Siri nodded and shrugged. As he left the room, she bit her lip.

She knew one sure-fire way to get to him. Bane seemed so unaffected by everything, so objective--but Siri knew, from experience, one way to get  _ anyone _ to lose their composure.

And she  _ had _ to make sure he agreed. She  _ had _ to get out clean--she might not be able to get Krayn and his powerful friends, but she was going to make damn sure that whoever they sent after her  _ could _ .

Decision made, Siri stood and set her own drink down next to his, stripping quickly, letting her clothes land on the floor around her. Picking her drink back up, she arranged herself on the couch invitingly, legs crossed and arms spread, leaning on her elbows. She  _ knew _ she was attractive, and she knew how to position herself, how to put on a show without even moving, just by the picture she made, leaning up against the couch. She waited for Bane.

He emerged from the hallway with a scanner in his hands, frowning down at it and adjusting the dials. Bane glanced up at her, and then stopped dead. Siri smirked at him, tilting her head  _ just so _ , and blinking slowly at him. Finally, Bane pursed his lips and shook his head, continuing towards her. Siri held her ground, still smiling at him, though he was trying to avoid looking at her; Bane stopped just in front of her and bent down, running the scanner over her clothes, and then over her body. Siri noted, her smile drooping, that he kept his eyes fixed on her face.

“You’re clean,” he announced. “Put your clothes back on.”

Siri frowned at him and sat up, exposing more of herself to him. “I’m offended.”

“By what?” Bane snapped, throwing himself down on the opposite end of the couch, careful not to even touch her bare feet, stretched out in front of her, staring at the caff table and resolutely not looking at her.

“That’s not the usual reaction I get when I take my clothes off for someone.”

Bane snorted and grabbed his drink, downing half of it at once. “And  _ I’m _ offended by your motivations.” Bane paused, shaking his head. “That ain’t me. I know you’re just trying to convince me you’re serious. Congratulations, it worked. I know you’re serious. Now put your clothes back on.”

Siri stared at him for a moment, keeping perfectly still. She didn’t  _ understand _ , if she was being honest with herself. He was a bounty hunter, and he worked for the  _ Hutts _ . It made no sense for him not to…  _ take advantage _ of what she was clearly offering.

“That ain’t me,” Bane repeated, somewhat gentler this time. Finally, Siri nodded and stood, pulling her pants and shirt back on, but forgoing her jacket, socks, and boots. “I’ll help you. The plan’s good enough.”

“I brought a copy of the recording,” Siri said, pulling the datachip out of her pocket and putting it on the table in front of them.

“Good.”   


“How soon can you make this happen?” Siri asked. Bane gave her a hard, considering look. He shrugged.

“I’m guessing you’re on a deadline?”

Siri chuckled grimly. “Tomorrow.”

Bane sighed. “Of course it’s tomorrow. Fine; we’ll make it work.”

“Thank you,” Siri said quietly. She  _ meant it _ , too. Bane seemed to realize, and he only nodded.

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours. This helps both of us.” He held up his glass, less than half left; Siri brought hers up to clink glasses with him. “To new partnerships.”

Siri smiled, a  _ real smile _ , for the first time in… since she’d taken this assignment. “To new beginnings.”

* * *

Siri had expected to be nervous, when the time came. Instead, she felt a sense of absolute  _ calm _ wrap around her. It was almost like what she felt when she managed to sink deep,  _ deep _ into meditation, losing her sense of everything but the Force and herself.

The morning passed quickly, and when Siri checked the commlink (during one of the many breaks they had to take, when either Krayn or Bane got too heated), she had one new message, text-only: coordinates. Nothing else, no word on who was going to be retrieving her. It was still enough to make  _ hope _ start to flutter in her chest again.

Settling back down into her chair, she locked eyes with Bane, who grinned at her and nodded as Krayn retook his own seat.

“I suggest we adjourn for the day,” Bane said flatly. “We’re not getting anywhere. We need to regroup, and I need to update my employers.”

Krayn gritted his teeth, but nodded sharply. “Fine. Zora, escort them out.”

Siri nodded and rose with Bane; his two armored flunkies fell into step behind them.

“Ready?” Bane asked as they descended the empty steps. Siri nodded.

The rest of the walk was silent. Siri led them from the building and out into the alleyway behind the factory. They walked this time, rather than taking the speeder. Siri led them away from the factory and into a neighborhood, full of mostly-abandoned houses. Ducking into an alleyway behind one of the dilapidated buildings, she pulled her vibroblade.

“If we’re going to make it convincing…” Bane nodded and held out his arm. Siri took a deep breath and  _ slashed _ \--once, twice, and then she pulled back. Bane’s jacket was ripped, and he was bleeding from the cuts on his shoulder and forearm.

“Ready?” Bane asked, and Siri clenched her jaw, but nodded. Bane drew his blaster and levelled it at her. “I hope we meet again, Zora. And for the record, next time we meet, if you want to take your clothes off again, I won’t stop you.”

Siri barked a startled laugh. Bane pulled the trigger.

* * *

Siri woke to a  _ splitting _ headache, and a duller, persistent ache in her stomach. Groaning quietly, she took stock: she was on some kind of sleep couch, but it was thin; not a real bed, then, but more likely a bunk on a ship. Hesitantly, she lowered her shields and reached out with the Force. She wasn’t alone, and she recoiled as soon as she touched someone else’s mind--so  _ warm _ , so  _ bright _ \--

“Siri?”

Her eyes flew open at the familiar voice, and as the world spun into focus, Siri locked eyes with Aayla Secura. The Padawan was sitting at her bedside, smiling at her broadly.

“Hi,” Siri croaked, her voice rasping through her dry throat. Aayla’s grin widened before she turned away, grabbing a bottle of water off of a low shelf. Removing the cap for her, Aayla passed her the bottle.

“Hi,” Aayla said gently. “How are you feeling?”

Siri gulped down as much of the water as she could before shrugging. “Not my best right now.”

Aayla nodded, a sympathetic expression overtaking her. “Those cryorounds are something else. That was clever, by the way.”

“How’d it work out?” Siri asked before bringing the bottle back to her lips with both shaking hands.

“Your contact explained everything when we got there,” Aayla started. “We found your note at the coordinates we’d assigned for the meet, and when we went to the coroner’s office, he explained it all. Shot with a cryoround, freezing you but mimicking a blaster shot. Krayn is convinced you’re dead, and the entire operation is an uproar right now, trying to figure out if they believe the Hutts’ negotiator or not. Looks like you got out clean.”

Siri grinned. “Good.”

Aayla nodded, smiling at her. “Master Quinlan is up in the cockpit right now. I’m sure he’d like to see you, now that you’re up--I can take over for him, if you don’t want to get up yet.”

Siri nodded, relieved. “That’d be great. I want to just lay here for five years, at least.”

Aayla smiled softly and nodded. Standing, she reached out to tuck Siri’s hair behind her ear. It was still red, not blonde.

“I can’t wait for the Council to tell me I can get fixed, and look like myself again,” Siri sighed, and Aayla nodded, her smile dimming.

“I know. Soon. We’re only two days out from Coruscant.”

Siri nodded, watching as Aayla left. She willed herself not to fall asleep, waiting for Quinlan. Instead, she sat up, groaning at the strain on her stomach; cryrounds didn’t pierce any deeper than muscle tissue, but they still  _ hurt _ .

“Siri!” She looked up sharply at the call. Quinlan was standing in the doorway, grinning broadly at her. “You’re finally up!”

Siri snorted. “I’d like to shoot you with one of those, and see how long  _ your _ ass is out.” Quinlan laughed and shook his head, stepping into the room and taking the chair Aayla had just vacated. “Do you know what’s going on? Why they pulled me?”

Quinlan’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know anything specific, but there was breach in Temple security. Something serious enough that Master Tholme wanted you on it, specifically.”

Siri frowned. “It’s been two years since I’ve been at the Temple. I have no idea what the security is like anymore.” Her frown became a grimace. “I  _ hope _ it’s improved in the last two years.”

Quinlan barked a laugh. “It has. But that’s also why Master Tholme wants you. You’re a good slicer, but unfamiliar with the architecture. You might catch something others overlooked.”

Siri nodded slowly, regretting it as the pounding in her head increased. She groaned and brought a hand to her forehead. Quinlan frowned.

“I can get you a pain reliever--”

“No,” Siri sighed. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I just need more sleep.”

Quinlan nodded slowly, though he didn’t look convinced. “It’s been two years since you had any real contact with another Jedi, yeah?” Siri raised an eyebrow at him, knowing that he already knew the answer to that question. “I’m sure there are things you want to know; people you want to ask about.” He leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle, folding his arms over his chest. “We’ve got two days for me to answer your questions.”

Siri didn’t hesitate. “Master Adi?”

Quinlan smiled. “She’s good. So proud of you, too; she hounded Master Tholme for updates almost daily, at the beginning. But now we’ve got her down to every three days.” Siri snickered, but couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through her chest. She hadn’t been forgotten. Her Master still cared about her. “I know you’re already a Knight, but Master Adi arranged for you to have a Ceremony, if you want it.”

Siri nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

Quinlan nodded in turn, his expression sympathetic. He was a Shadow himself, and he’d talked to her very seriously, as a friend, about that path when Siri had been approached near the end of her apprenticeship to Master Adi. He knew what it cost to take these missions, how it changed you, and the ways in which Shadows were fundamentally  _ different _ to other Jedi. He could understand why she might not want to accept the honor of a Ceremony, why she didn’t feel she  _ earned it  _ on this mission. The things she’d done...

“Anyone else?” Quinlan prompted gently, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Garen?”

Quinlan laughed. “He’s having the time of his life. The Senate approved additional funds for the Order, so now we can order our own fleet of hyperspace-capable fighters. He was appointed part of the committee to choose the designs.”

Siri laughed and shook her head. “He’s obsessed. Bant?”

“Bant was Knighted, while you were gone. She’s already got half the Knights cowed.” She hesitated, but Quinlan just smiled at her again, more gently than his usual smirks. “Obi-Wan is good. He took that Skywalker kid as his Padawan a couple of weeks ago. Master Jinn moved quarters with them, so all three of them live together now.”

Siri wasn’t quite sure what face she was making, torn between smiling and scowling. She  _ knew _ how much Obi loved Master Jinn, but… the guy was such an  _ ass _ . He’d hurt her friend so much, and so badly, but Obi-Wan was too loyal and too  _ loving _ to turn his back on him.

Thinking of Obi-Wan, for reasons Siri both could and couldn’t understand, made her feel  _ guilty  _ for trying to seduce Bane. She felt ridiculous; she and Obi-Wan had pledged  _ not _ to ever act on their feelings. They had no claim to each other.

“There have been a few other developments in the Temple you should probably hear about,” Quinlan said, interrupting her train of thought. She blinked at him, and then smiled--a tired, small smile. Despite the way he drove her absolutely  _ crazy _ , Quinlan was a good friend, and he knew her well.

“Oh?”

“Yup. Master Jinn was asked by the Council to sit on this committee, with Master Altis…”

* * *

As they came in for landing, Siri got as close to the glass of the viewport as she could without actually pressing her face to it like an excited youngling. Thankfully, Aayla and Quinlan had left her to it, Quinlan in the pilot’s chair to guide them down, and Aayla acting as his copilot.

The Temple was… exactly as Siri had remembered, although somehow, it seemed smaller. Maybe it was because she had seen more of the galaxy, but even as a Padawan, taking many missions on other worlds, Siri had always thought the Temple to be… enormous. The biggest building she’d ever seen, certainly.

Now, it felt… almost insignificant, dwarfed by the megatowers on the horizon. Siri wondered if that was because she doubted the Order’s effectiveness, or if it was just perspective gained through experience. She didn’t like either thought, and shoved them aside roughly.

They were directed straight to one of the Temple hangars, rather than a public one; Siri was grateful not to have to take public transit to the Temple through Coruscant. As they landed, Siri turned away from the viewport and took several deep, steadying breaths.

“Ready?” Quinlan asked softly. Siri opened her eyes and smiled.

“More than ready.”

Quinlan grinned back and nodded. He was first to exit the ship, Aayla after him; Siri was so  _ eager _ to get back in the Temple, but even so, her feet stopped at the top of the ramp. For a long moment, she was frozen in place.

“Siri!”

The cry broke Siri’s paralysis, and she darted forward, charging down the ramp to fling herself into Bant’s waiting arms. One of Bant’s arms rested around her waist as the other gently cradled the back of her head; Siri pressed her face into her friend’s neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of  _ home _ .

“Bant,” Siri sighed.

“We’re all so proud of you, Siri,” Bant murmured, pressing her face into Siri’s still-red hair. “I’m so glad to have you back with us.”

Siri felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m glad to be back. It’s good to be home.”

* * *

She hadn’t even reported to the Council yet. Bant had take her first to the Quartermaster’s, to get her new quarters settled and supplies ordered, including the Jedi tunics that Siri had missed  _ so much _ ; after that, she had steered Siri to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Dressed in Jedi tunics, Siri did not feel so out of place as she’d expected to.

They had meditated for a time, mostly focusing on re-learning each other’s presences in the Force, and then,  _ finally _ , Siri had been summoned by Master Tholme.  _ Not _ , she noticed, the High Council. Bant had smiled and squeezed her hand.

Now, Siri found herself in front of Master Tholme’s hard, dark, considering gaze. She was seated across his desk from him, her hands folded in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankle.

“How do you feel?” Master Tholme asked bluntly. Siri tilted her head and really  _ thought _ about the question.

“Disillusioned,” she said flatly. Master Tholme nodded grimly. “But good. I’m glad to be back where things make more sense.”

Master Tholme smirked. “That’s a typical reaction, after a Shadow’s first mission out.” He paused, levelling her with a serious, heavy  _ look _ . “You did well. We didn’t pull you because you were in danger of blowing the operation. We pulled you because I need you  _ here _ .”

Siri nodded slowly, still not quite believing him. She knew she hadn’t been in danger of  _ blowing _ it, but she didn’t feel like she’d been making that much progress, either, towards that last goal of uncovering Krayn’s mysterious benefactor. She wouldn’t be surprised if this was just a kind way to let someone else take a crack at it. “That’s what the message said.”

“You’ve kept up on your slicing skills?” Siri nodded. “Good. We have a breach in the Temple network. I need you to find and stop whoever it is.”

Siri nodded. The news was… troubling. The Temple had always put an emphasis on security, especially with their own records. They were exposed to so much, including dangerous lore of the Sith, which should  _ definitely  _ not be common knowledge, and political matters, which, for security reasons, often could not be publicly disclosed.

“A cyber-breach?” Master Tholme nodded, looking troubled. “Has there been a pattern to the files they’ve accessed, or tried to access?”

Master Tholme’s frown deepened, a furrow forming between his eyes. “Yes. All of the mission files and records that have been breached share one Jedi in common.” He paused again, and then sat back in his seat, folding his hands together. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Siri’s heart dropped, her stomach fluttering. She frowned back at Master Tholme as logic caught up with her. “Aren’t all Knights’ records public, unless the specific mission is classified, or they’re a Shadow?” Master Tholme nodded. “I didn’t think Obi-Wan  _ is  _ a Shadow.”

“He isn’t,” Master Tholme said, and then his frown morphed into a grimace. “Not in a  _ traditional _ sense. You left on the assignment with Krayn shortly after the Invasion of Naboo.”

Siri nodded slowly. “Three weeks after. Obi-Wan was still on Naboo. I’d heard Master Jinn couldn’t be moved yet.”

Master Tholme sighed and shook his head. “You’re one of mine. That is the only reason I’m telling you about this.” Siri frowned at him and tilted her head in silent question. “There was a Force event. A vision of an alternate lifetime.” Siri grimaced herself, then. She was a few years younger than Obi-Wan, and in a different clan, so she hadn’t really been in many classes with him, but they had become close friends in their youth nonetheless. She had seen how his visions had affected him, how he would be fine one day, and quiet and withdrawn the next, dark circles under his eyes. “Due to the nature of the visions, his missions and file have been heavily classified. They are meant to be accessible by Shadows and the Council alone.”

Siri nodded slowly. “And you detected a breach from another source.”

“Yes, though I could not even trace it to a specific device,” Master Tholme sighed. “Whoever it was did a very good job of covering their tracks. The only stamps on the file came from the Temple network.”

Siri glowered at the desk between her and Master Tholme. That did complicate matters; whoever it was, they were good enough to hide their tracks  _ well _ , burying their signature in the thousands of Temple connections to the ‘Net.

“I’ll find them,” Siri said, nodding. Master Tholme nodded back, smiling slightly.

“I know you will,” he said flatly. “That’s why we brought you back.”

* * *

Siri had so much to  _ do _ before she could actually get back to work. She  _ knew _ that it was part of Temple business, to visit her new quarters, register her new datapad and commlink, and report to the Council, but it all felt so… tedious. It felt like they were keeping her from doing her  _ job _ , and she had to breathe deeply, purposefully, until she calmed back down, her frustration becoming background noise, rather than an oppressive  _ thrum _ through her bones.

Reporting to the Council was a long, dry, boring affair. Master Tholme attended the meeting with her, and it  _ still _ took her over two hours to relate what had happened.

When she described her plan for a clean exit, Master Windu had frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“A Duros named Bane? It wouldn’t happen to be Cad Bane, would it?” Siri had nodded, and Master Windu stared at her for a moment before shaking his head, and muttering “what a pain in my ass.” Siri pretended not to hear him. Louder, Windu asked, “What made you decide to trust him?”

“Faking Zora’s death was mutually beneficial for him,” Siri said with a shrug, “and he could use it to his and the Hutts’ advantage, in negotiations. He had no reason to tell Krayn about our side-deal, and every reason to help me.”

“Clever, that was,” Master Yaddle said, smiling softly. Siri smiled back in thanks. Finally, Master Windu nodded as well.

“You did well. Chatter indicates Krayn is furious, but believes the story,” Master Windu told her. “We’ll give it a few weeks, and then send in a new undercover posing as a family member of yours looking for revenge. Hopefully, they won’t have to start from the beginning in his ranks, with that connection.” Siri nodded slowly. “You did well.”   


Siri smiled faintly at Master Windu’s praise and bowed. Master Tholme put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What do you say we go get that shit off your face?” He gestured to the black marks Zora bore, and Siri barked a laugh.

“Yes, please.”

* * *

Siri was so  _ happy _ to look like herself again--really, she  _ was _ . But still, she startled each time she saw white-blonde in her peripheral vision instead of red. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that it had only been  _ two hours _ , which was nothing when weighed against two  _ years _ .

Looking, if not quite feeling, more like herself, Siri sat at the dataviewer in her spare quarters. Master Adi was off-planet, and Siri had yet to go to their old quarters to retrieve her things. She had no desire to see their quarters without her Master in them. If she was going to come  _ home _ , she wanted her Master there.

Master Tholme had given her Council-level clearance for this, and although he’d  _ requested _ that she wait until the next morning to be briefed on what was so important about Obi-Wan’s file, the look in his eyes said that he doubted she actually  _ would _ wait. Siri felt no guilt about it--this was  _ Obi-Wan _ . She may not have seen him since before Naboo, and she may not have seen him much at all before then, not since… Not since they’d decided to remain true to the Order, rather than each other, but… Obi-Wan was important to her in ways she didn’t dare think about. She’d made her choice, and to dwell on it would be self-flagellation of the cruelest sort.

Siri had watched the footage of the reactor room fight, of course. She’d already been assigned to infiltrate Krayn’s operation by the time the footage made its way onto the Holonet, and she had watched it with two low-level drug dealers. They had watched in silence and then one of them had asked, “Can  _ all _ Jedi fight like that?”

“Dunno,” the other dealer had sighed. “Still, I guess it doesn’t matter. We’re not important enough for a Jedi to come after us, thank fuck.”

Siri had had to bite her lip not to laugh at them, but later that night, alone in the apartment they’d installed her in, she’d watched it three more times. She hadn’t seen Obi-Wan fight in a long time, but what she saw in that video didn’t match with what she knew about her friend. He was a natural in Ataru, his Master’s form--Obi-Wan always had far too much energy and enough fight in him that it made the Masters deem him “too angry,” when he’d been young. He almost hadn’t been Chosen because of it. But it did make him a perfect for an energetic, aggressive form like Ataru.

And that was what she saw in the video. Siri played it again, now, deciding to start from the beginning of the file. She knew everything that came before that, usually having heard about it from Obi-Wan himself. But this…

She watched as the Zabrak lured them into the reactor room with its tall catways, not a safety railing in sight--and surely they had to do  _ something _ about that, she mused as she watched Obi-Wan get kicked over the side of one of the catwalks--and Siri grudgingly acknowledged that the Zabrak had been smart. Together, working side-by-side, Master Jinn and Obi-Wan were a force to be reckoned with. Even angry with each other--which seemed to happen alarmingly often, and served as one of Siri’s main grudges against Master Jinn, because it took a  _ lot _ to make Obi-Wan genuinely  _ angry _ \--they worked almost as one being, knowing exactly where the other would move, where they would slash or parry. Separating them had been the Zabrak’s one stroke of genius in that fight.

He’d gotten lucky against Master Jinn. Siri had realized that Master Jinn had started to tire, and he’d gone for a last-ditch effort with that overhand strike. Siri hated watching that part--she might not  _ like _ Master Jinn, but she didn’t want him  _ dead _ . And it would have devastated Obi-Wan, if he’d died. She’d been relieved to hear that he’d survived.

Behind the ray shield, Obi-Wan fell to one knee, one hand still on his ‘saber, and the other clutching the side of his head, as Master Jinn toppled to the floor. The Zabrak paced back and forth in front of the ray shield, snarling at Obi-Wan, looking like a caged animal. Just before the shields cycled again, Obi-Wan stood up and raised his ‘saber. But this wasn’t an Ataru stance--it was clearly Soresu. The Zabrak tilted his head slightly, no doubt questioning the change himself, but it didn’t stop him from throwing himself back into the fight the instant the shield between them cleared.

It looked like Obi-Wan was entirely on the defensive, but Siri looked at their feet: Obi-Wan was leading the Zabrak in circles, always stepping backwards, deciding where the fight would take them next. His defense was simple, but impenetrable. The Zabrak seemed to grow frustrated quickly; Obi-Wan’s face was a blank mask, only a slight furrow in his brow as he focused on the moment. The Zabrak got sloppy, and Obi-Wan managed to slice through his ‘saber as he slashed out, leaving the Sith with only one red blade left.

It was clear that the Zabrak was not quite as used to working with a single blade than he was his lightstaff. Even so, Obi-Wan continued to use Soresu, allowing his opponent’s anger to peak, waiting for him to tire himself out, or give him an opening.

The Zabrak gave Obi-Wan another opening, trying to land a strike to Obi-Wan’s dominant ‘saber arm, leaving himself largely unprotected. Obi-Wan didn’t block the strike, though he did move slightly to the side so that it only grazed him; he brought his ‘saber up, almost too quickly for the camera to catch, and then the Zabrak’s head toppled to the floor. Obi-Wan reached out with his foot, stopping it before it tumbled into the reactor core. With one last look at the Zabrak, Obi-Wan went to his Master’s side.

Siri’s stomach sank. She  _ hated _ this part.

“O-Obi-Wan…”

“You should have waited for me,” Obi-Wan said flatly as he turned Master Jinn onto his back and began opening his tunics. Master Jinn’s hands came up, weakly trying to stop him.

“It’s too late,” Master Jinn said. Obi-Wan said nothing, merely continuing to pull back the bloody, burned tunics away from the wound.

“This isn’t going to feel very good, I fear,” Obi-Wan warned him, placing his hands on either side of the wound. Master Jinn hissed and grabbed Obi-Wan’s forearms.

“Promise me you’ll train--”

“Shut up, Master,” Obi-Wan said, sounding perfectly serene. “There is no need to be so dramatic.”

“Obi-Wan, he  _ is _ the--”

Obi-Wan wasn’t listening. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Siri heard Master Jinn’s sharp hiss of breath, and then he groaned. He gritted his teeth and passed out. A moment later, Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, and he surveyed the wound for a moment before nodding to himself, drawing his hands back and falling to the side, sitting on the floor beside his Master. He drew out his communicator.

“ _ If anyone is available, we need a medic down in the main reactor room. _ ”

Siri stopped the recording. She knew what happened next: a team of medics came and carted off Master Jinn. Obi-Wan lingered for a moment more in the reactor room, staring at the dead Sith (and Siri thought she could hear him say, “What a  _ waste _ ,” but he hadn’t been facing the camera, so it was hard to make out), before sighing and making his way out of the reactor room.

His use of Soresu and his Force-healing had both been… unexpected. Sure, Obi-Wan had trained in the basics of Soresu--they all had. It was required, when they were Padawans, that they study forms one through six. But Siri hadn’t had any idea he was as skilled in the form as what that video showed. And he’d never been much good at Force-healing--it required a deep connection to the Living Force, and Obi-Wan had always been so much stronger in the Unifying Force.

She’d never gotten a chance to ask anyone for an explanation, since she was already cut off from everything but emergency communication with the Order by that point.

Siri moved to the next entry in Obi-Wan’s file, a cryptic note from Master Windu himself:  _ Kenobi was also affected by the Seeing. That makes six of us.  _ That was… unexpected. The  _ vision _ Master Tholme had told her about had given Obi-Wan those advanced abilities? Of all the explanations Siri might’ve expected, that wasn’t one of them. She’d never heard of a vision improving someone’s abilities like that before.

Accepting it for the moment, she moved to the next attachment, filed a few weeks later: a memo from Master B’Nari, one of the Soul Healers.  _ Knight Kenobi is doing as well as can be expected. He exhibits some signs of a traumatic stress response, but he is fit for duty. Time is the best cure I can prescribe.  _ That, at least, was reassuring. Siri was pretty sure Obi-Wan had been a traumatic stress response case since he was thirteen and he offered to blow himself up during that clusterfuck on Bandomeer, so nothing new there.

The next memo was from Master Windu again:  _ Knight Kenobi has been assigned to visit the Temple of the Kyber on Jedha. The Guardians have consented to share their records so that we may research the Seeing. No such events are logged in any of the Temple Archives. Addendum: There are vague references in several of their files that may match our circumstances. Knight Kenobi has sent copies of these files directly to Master Tholme. _

Great. So not just a vision, a vision that the Council couldn’t even explain. A  _ shared vision _ , which was exceptionally rare on its own, too. Siri frowned and moved on; there was another memo from the Council.

_ Knight Kenobi reports a successful slave uprising on Tatooine. He claims to have been captured by Jango Fett, to be turned in for the bounty posted by the Trade Federation.  _ Siri snorted. Whoever had logged  _ that _ clearly hadn’t believed that story. Siri hadn’t, either, when she’d heard about it. He just so  _ happened _ to be on Tatooine during a slave uprising? She knew Obi-Wan, and there was no way he hadn’t helped them.

The notes after that were a mixture of standard mission report addendums, notes from the Council about their opinions of Obi-Wan’s assignments, and vague references to the search for information about the Sith. Siri realized that this was why Master Tholme had asked her to wait--half of Obi-Wan’s file was missing, redacted with only vague notes directing her to approach Master Tholme or the Council for further information.

She smiled at the entry for Confirmation of Obi-Wan’s Padawan Learner, but frowned at the last entry:  _ Knight Kenobi’s assistance was specifically requested in the Mandalore system. The Council approved the mission _ . She checked the stamp--that was two days ago. She sighed and shook her head. Of course he wasn’t in the Temple when she needed him to be.

Of course he wasn’t in the Temple when she first returned. Of course she wouldn’t get to see him again after  _ two years _ . Siri gritted her teeth and reminded herself that distance was best. Distance was safe. Distance would keep her from breaking her vows to the Order for him.

Deciding that no more research could be done until she got the full report from Master Tholme, Siri cracked her knuckles and got started on the breach itself.

* * *

When the next morning dawned, bright and early, Siri hadn’t slept at all. She felt light-headed, almost high from too much caff and the potent feeling of so many other Jedi in the Force after so long away from them. Draining the rest of her most recent, still-warm mug of caff, Siri stood and hooked her datapad onto her belt. It was time to get the rest of that briefing, and update Master Tholme on what she’d found.

Siri got a few double-takes as she walked down the halls and internally sighed. It wasn’t common knowledge, yet, that she hadn’t really left the Order, and she knew that would take time for that news to make its way through the Temple. But still, the half-suspicious gazes of her brothers and sisters  _ hurt _ . After so long without seeing them, to be greeted so coldly was…

She thought she finally understood how Obi-Wan felt, coming back after Melida/Daan. He had been so  _ happy _ , almost  _ joyful _ , being in the Temple, but he had also been… hurt. He’d felt sad and angry for a long time after that. It had taken  _ years _ before those feelings faded, and she wondered if it would take  _ her _ that long, or if everything would be set to rights as soon as the truth came out.

But Siri had been patient for two years. She could be patient a while longer--at least until Master Adi got back. Once everyone saw them together, and realized the “fight” between them that had led to Siri “leaving the Order” had been for show, everything would go back to normal. There was nothing she could do  _ now _ , not about that. She put it from her mind.

She reached Master Tholme’s office and refocused on the matter at hand. He sounded grim as he called for her to enter, and she frowned. He  _ looked _ grim, too, and tired.

“What happened?” Siri asked bluntly. Master Tholme pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Your report first,” he said flatly. Siri nodded and pulled her datapad from her belt.

“I managed to track down the source of the initial breach,” Siri said. “It looked like it came from inside the Temple because it  _ did _ . They didn’t have to go through half of our firewalls because they were using the Temple Net.”

Master Tholme’s frown deepened at that. “Any idea who specifically?”

Siri shook her head. “No. They used one of the terminals in the Archives. But there’s something else.” Master Tholme gestured for her to continue, looking more and more disturbed as she spoke. “They left a backdoor open into the system for themselves. Because of that door, every time it’s accessed, it looks like it’s an internal source, here in the Temple. But someone else has been using it. I tracked that signal to one of the semi-public terminals in the Senate, accessible to anyone who works in the complex.”

Master Tholme sat back, steepling his fingers together. He shook his head and sighed. “Have they accessed or tried to access any other files?”

“No. Only Obi-Wan’s.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s both good and bad news. Leave the door open for now. I want to try to track it to a specific terminal in the Senate building. We can send Knight Vos over once we know which one, see if he can’t find out, through access records or his abilities, who it was. And the Jedi who did this…” Master Tholme sighed. “Much as it pains me to say it, we might have a mole. If they’re working with someone in the Senate…”

Siri nodded. It was a grim possibility, but one they had to explore. “I’ll slice the door, and add a tracker. It’ll alert us immediately if anyone uses it.” Master Tholme nodded, and Siri leaned forward. “Now, what has you looking so grim?”

Master Tholme hesitated, and Siri’s stomach lurched. She had a bad feeling about this. “We lost contact with Knight Kenobi.”

Siri frowned. “That’s happened plenty of times. You know how his missions go.”

Master Tholme shook his head. “The last report we heard from him was just before he went into a battle. And his Padawan said he ‘felt something’ through their bond, and it wasn’t good.”

That was… mind-boggling. “Isn’t Obi-Wan in the Mandalore system?” Master Tholme nodded. “And his Padawan is here in the Temple?” Master Tholme sighed and nodded again. “Damn, that’s impressive.”

“They have a strong bond, and Skywalker is incredibly powerful already,” Master Tholme sighed. “We’re taking this seriously, but he’s with Fett. We have no way of contacting him.”

“Kryze,” Siri said immediately. Master Tholme blinked at her.

“The  _ Jorad’alor _ ?” he clarified, and Siri shook her head.

“His daughter Satine,” she clarified, ignoring the sting of  _ jealousy _ she felt at so much as speaking the woman’s name. “When Obi-Wan and Master Jinn were on Mandalore last time, they became… close. If Obi-Wan’s in the system, I guarantee she’s talked to him, at least. She’ll have some idea where to find him, and if she doesn’t, I’m sure her father would know where Fett is.”

Master Tholme nodded slowly. “That’s helpful. Thank you.” Siri nodded, and he sat back in his chair again. “I know you haven’t had much of a ‘welcome home.’ For the record, I’m glad to have you back.”

Siri smiled, and this time, she meant it. “It’s good to be back.”

Now if Obi-Wan could just manage to keep from getting himself killed before she could see him again, and Master Adi could hurry it up and come  _ home _ , everything would be perfect. Everything would be just as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw some great questions in the comments that I really want to answer where everyone can see! Some of these are just background information bits that aren't actually going to be addressed outright, and some of them are going to be addressed in the story itself.
> 
> 1\. As far as Qui-Gon saying he's "too old" to train Anakin... You're right. He's really not that old, and he's got quite a bit longer left before he's really and truly old. But because of his injury on Naboo, he's not quite the man he used to be, and it's sucked some energy out of him. He doesn't think he could keep up with Anakin, but because of his pride, it's easier to blame it on age than it is to admit that it's because of the injury. Anakin's just a kid, though, who doesn't really know better yet.
> 
> 2\. As far as Jango goes... This isn't something that's going to come up at all in the story, really, but in my headcanon, this version of Jango is a biromantic asexual. So he definitely finds Obi-Wan intriguing and attractive, but he's not interested in sex at all, and for that reason and many more besides, this isn't going to be a Jango/Obi story. I do love that pairing, but it's just not meant for this AU. He's also not with Shmi either, they've basically developed a sibling relationship. Closer than friends, and closer than the typical Mand'alor/Mando'ad interaction, but not romantic.
> 
> 3\. I did mark this story Gen, and it is going to stay that way. There are mentions of romantic feelings between characters, and/or attraction between characters, and they are mostly canon relationships. Obi-Wan and Siri Tachi's feelings are addressed some in this chapter, and Satine is mentioned also throughout the story. But romantic relationships will never be the focus or even a major part of this story, so I'm keeping the "Gen" category. :)
> 
> 4\. That being said... There is going to be a sequel to this story, as this is the first installment and it's only going to over up to where Episode II would start, and that sequel may have a bit more romance in it. I can't say too much more, because I don't want to spoil anything that's coming...
> 
> 5\. I promise that we will eventually get to see Jango reacting to CC-2224 naming himself Cody, and the implications of that. But we've got a lot of ground to cover before we get there!
> 
> I really do appreciate all of your comments, and I've read every single one of them, I promise! Until I'm able to start responding to them again (we're trying to hire someone for my department, so hopefully I can resume a normal work schedule soon and have more time on my hands!), I'm going to keep answering questions in the chapter notes. :)


	10. Shmi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU so very much to everyone who's commented, subscribed, left kudos, and bookmarked this story! It makes me so happy to see how many people are reading this. :D
> 
> Alright, everybody, we're finally resolving the Mandalore cliffhanger! :D
> 
> And on a completely unrelated note, "Saiya" is pronounced Shy-yuh. Just an FYI.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> cuun ade: our children  
> Kaminiise: Kaminoans, singular Kaminii  
> 'Lek. Gedet'ye: Yes. Please.  
> buir: parent, either mother or father depending on context  
> alor: leader  
> vod'e: brothers and/or sisters, depending on context  
> Mando'ad: a child of Mandalore, ie a Mandalorian  
> Manda'yaim: the planet Mandalore itself  
> Su'cuy: Hi!  
> adiik: a young child  
> Vor'e: Thanks  
> beskar'gam: Mandalorian armor  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Jetii'kad'e: lightsabers (lit. Jedi swords)  
> ba'vodu: aunt/uncle  
> Tion'gar gai?: What's your name?  
> mandokarla: the right stuff, what makes a Mandalorian  
> Gar burc'ya: your friend  
> ner ad: my child  
> aliit: family/clan  
> Cui ogir'olar: It's irrelevant (ie doesn't matter, it's neither here nor there)  
> Ret'urcye mhi: Maybe we'll meet again (goodbye)  
> riduurok: Mandalorian marriage vows  
> cin vhetin: white field, ie a clean slate/fresh start

Shmi had been angry with Jango, when he told her that she would not be allowed to leave with him, to _fight_ with him. She was… frustrated. She knew that Jango hated making decisions for her--why did he have to make _this one_?

But she understood his logic, once she had calmed herself, taking her staff to a droid for hours on end to work out the aggression until she was boneless and ready to think clearly, the anger a dim and distant ache echoed by her sore muscles. He thought that there was a chance that he would not survive the fighting, and he was still _better_ at it than she was, for all that she had trained, for all her determination. He had more experience, and _he_ was the one they would rally to, in the end. _He_ had to be the one to go.

They could not risk both of them--if both of them died, there would be no one to advocate for _cuun ade_. There would be no one to help them break their chains.

Shmi had _understood_ , in the end, but she was still _angry_. She still did not like it.

But even Jango could not stop her from asking Sanma Vo for another ship and stocking it with as much medical gear as she could pilfer without drawing too much attention. Even Jango could not stop her from modifying the communicator Obi-Wan had given her years ago to call Anakin, increasing its frequency range until she could either call him or listen passively to chatter from the ships around them. Surely if something _important_ happened on Mandalore, they would hear of it, and by proxy, she would as well.

Still, it came as a surprise when Jango commed. He was earlier than expected.

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” Shmi greeted him neutrally. There was a long moment of silence, and she frowned as she noted the strained quality to his breathing. She wondered if he was injured, and wished the connection was strong enough for a holo. “Jango?”

“Shmi,” he said, voice rough as though he’d been screaming, or crying. “Obi-Wan, he was… he was injured. Badly. We won, but… They know who he is. They know _what_ he is.”

Shmi nodded to herself, already rising from the couch. She glanced over at Boba--could she take him with her? Or would the _Kaminiise_ make an issue of it? Still, she had packed for him as well, just in case, ready to leave in an instant if she heard anything had happened to Jango.

Shmi froze as what he had said suddenly hit her, a wide smile crossing her face despite his message. “So he is Obi-Wan now, is he?”

Jango barked a rough, almost hysterical laugh. Shmi went back to pursing her lips--Jango must not have slept. “Whatever the others might think of him, Obi-Wan earned it.”

Shmi smiled to herself, a sad little gesture. “Will he recover?”

“Probably, with time,” Jango answered, sounding subdued. “He’s in a bacta tank, now.”

Shmi nodded again to herself. “Would you like me to bring Bob’ika?”

“Shmi--"

“I _am_ coming, Jango. Would you like me to bring Bob’ika with me?”

He sighed. “ _‘Lek. Gedet'ye_.”

Shmi smiled. “We will leave shortly.”

* * *

It took nearly a week to reach the Mandalore system from Kamino, and Shmi found that she was too busy to worry for most of that time. The sleek little craft the _Kaminiise_ had given her was fast and maneuverable, but also unfamiliar, and took much of her attention to pilot. Boba, thankfully, spent much of the trip on one of the cushioned benches near a viewport, watching the stars streak past in streams of white and blue. Shmi remembered doing the same, on _Slave I_ , just after Tatooine. The reminder made her smile.

Boba, even as young as he was, seemed to understand that something important was happening. He had cried for his _buir_ , after Jango had gone, but he had understood when Shmi had explained that his _buir_ was needed, that Jango was _alor_ to many more than just his _ade_ . He was a surprisingly quiet child, and thoughtful for a toddler--Boba was nothing like Anakin. Despite having been born a slave, Anakin had been energetic and curious, always getting into things he had no business exploring. At the time, Shmi had felt a sharp sting of _fear_ , wondering if Gardulla, and later Watto, would punish him for it. But Gardulla had never paid him much attention, and Watto had taken one look at Anakin, who had been only three when they were sold to him, up to his knees in a disassembled droid, running his tiny hands with more care than a child should have had over the parts to see what was useable, and Watto had laughed.

“Kid’s smart, eh? Sit him down and let him keep at it,” he had instructed her.

It was almost a surprise to Shmi that while the memories of her time as a slave still sparked that same _fire_ , it was not quite rage, and she did not _hate_ Watto. She hated _depur_ , and Watto was no longer _depur_ : after the uprising, he had sold his shop and began running a cantina. With some of the proceeds, he had even given her “back-pay” for the time she had “worked” for him. It had felt like an insult, at the time, but over a year’s distance from the last time she had spoken to the Toydarian, she thought she understood. Watto did not know how to make things right with her, though it seemed he wanted to. And Shmi was inclined to believe that--he had never been _cruel_ , not as other _depur_ were. He had had opportunities to sell her, or Anakin, but had held onto them both, rejecting any offer that would separate them, until Master Qui-Gon had secured Anakin’s freedom. Watto had never hit them--he had rarely even raised his voice at them in anger.

No, it did not make it _right_ , but Watto wasn’t worthy of her hate. It had taken years of effort and quiet, long conversations with Jango as he worked through his own misplaced hate and anger for Shmi to realize that unless she wanted to lose her way as he had, there was another lesson for her to learn. She had learned _fire_ and _anger_ and _self-defense_ , but Shmi also forced herself to learn _forgiveness_.

Boba’s soft snoring jolted her from her thoughts, and she turned around in the pilot’s chair, smiling softly at him. He was still leaning up against the back of the cushioned bench, facing away from her and towards the viewport, his head pillowed on his arms, fast asleep. Shmi rose, walking quietly over to him, and ran one hand through his hair. He snuffled softly in his sleep, pressing his head into her hand.

“Soon, _ad’ika_ , you will see your _buir_ again,” she whispered. “And we will be able to give you a better world than that which you were born into. There are many ways to be enslaved, and I promise that your _vod’e_ will have their chains broken. I am Shmi Skywalker, and I am Amavikka, but I am not a slave. I am _Mando’ad_ , and it has given me power. I _will_ see it done; we have already taken the first steps.”

* * *

The coordinates Jango had given her led them to a town on Concord Dawn. It was not a towering city, made instead of many low buildings, and from above, it looked to have been settled organically, rather than to any plan. Shmi recalled what she could of the planet, both from her studies and Jango’s stories: mainly agricultural, settled later in Mandalorian history, after the Annihilation had rendered most of _Manda’yaim_ uninhabitable, if it weren’t for the domes they had used to settle their large cities.

She landed near a long, low white building with teal paint--teal for peace, for healing. A hospital, then.

“Ready to see your _buir_ , Bob’ika?” she asked, and he smiled and nodded eagerly, lifting his arms. Shmi chuckled and hoisted him up. It was easy to settle him on her hip, and he clung to the upper edge of her cuirass, securing himself.

Inside the hospital, it was surprisingly quiet. Members of many different species walked through the lobby, peering at datapads or speaking in low, soothing tones to one another. All of them also wore teal. Shmi honed in on one humanoid woman, also wearing simple teal robes, and sitting on a low bench, looking over a datapad as she munched absently on a red fruit.

“ _Su’cuy_ ,” Shmi greeted her, and the woman looked up, immediately smiling at Boba.

“ _Su’cuy!_ ” she said, nodding. “How can I help you?”

“Do you know where I might find the _Mand’alor_ ?” she asked. The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, her smile dimming, and Shmi sighed. “This is Boba Fett, his _adiik_.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” the woman said, nodding eagerly and jumping up, slipping the datapad into one of her pockets. “He’s talked about you before, _adiik_ . I think your _buir_ misses you very much.” Boba smiled, but turned shy, nuzzling into Shmi to hide his face. The woman chuckled softly. “He’s still with… the _Jetii_ .” Her smile fell, and Shmi could clearly see disgust warring with awe; an understandable reaction, given how Obi-Wan’s actions flew in the face of their history with the Order and everything the _Mando’ade_ thought they knew about _Jetiise_. “I’ll take you to him.”

“ _Vor’e_.”

The woman led them down a long corridor, around a corner, and then back to another room. There were fewer people over here, and just beside the door was a large _Mando’ad_ in dark green _beskar’gam_ standing guard.

“This is Boba,” the woman explained, nodding to the child on Shmi’s hip. The large man tilted his head, and then chuckled. Slowly, he pulled off his helmet. Shmi noted instantly that he was handsome: strong features, pale skin, light hair, and kind eyes. A jagged scar ran down one cheek, disappearing into a blonde beard.

“What do you think, _adiik?_ Wanna try the _buy’ce_ on?” he asked, and Boba looked up, smiling and nodding. The man chuckled and gently placed it on his head. Shmi bit her lip, trying not to laugh as the boy swam in it. “You must be Shmi.”

“ _Elek. Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“Kain Tom’e of House Kryze,” he introduced himself, and she nodded, smiling at him. He smiled back, and she felt a little _flutter_ in her stomach. He truly was very handsome. “Go on in.”

Obi-Wan was out of the tank already, lying on a bed covered by soft, clearly hand-sewn blankets, unconscious. He looked pale, and even thinner than the last time she’d seen him. His fiery hair and beard stood in stark contrast to how sickly white he’d become, and she pursed her lips, focusing for a moment on the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest.

Jango was seated in a chair in the corner, leaning back, his arms crossed, staring at Kenobi, brow furrowed. As she stepped into the room, Jango looked at them, and chuckled. As he rose from the chair, Shmi noted two _Jetii’kad’e_ hanging from his belt.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. He sounded tired--he _looked_ tired, his red eyes with circles beneath them speaking to a lack of sleep. “Were you good for _ba’vodu_ , Bob’ika?”

“ _‘Lek!_ ” Boba said, reaching up to clumsily tip the _buy’ce_ up so he could see his _buir_ . The _buy’ce_ fell back down as he made a grabbing motion at Jango, who chuckled and removed it, handing it back to Kain before accepting Boba from her. Kain slipped out quietly, leaving them alone. Jango returned to his chair, Boba securely on his lap, and Shmi sat down on the end of Obi-Wan’s bed, taking one of his hands.

“How is he?”

“He’ll be alright,” Jango said. “His time in the tank went well. He was… crushed, when the explosives detonated.” Shmi pursed her lips and nodded; she had already known this, asking Jango for his full recounting of events on their way over, but she let him speak. “But he’ll be fine. They say he should wake up soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Shmi nodded, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand in slow, soothing circles. “That is good news.”

“He’s _mandokarla_ ,” Jango said gruffly, and then he sighed, shaking his head and pressing Boba closer to him. “But I don’t know that anyone else will recognize that.”

“They recognize _you_ as their _Mand’alor_ ,” Shmi said dismissively. “It may take them time to reconcile, but they will follow your lead, as they do in all things. It is demanded by the _Resol’nare_.”

Jango hummed, but did not reply, though he seemed less tense when she glanced over at him. She smiled as she watched him slowly, rhythmically, running one hand over Boba’s back, the boy still and quiet in his lap, looking at Obi-Wan.

“ _Gar burc’a_?” Boba asked, and Jango chuckled.

“ _Burc’ya_ ,” he corrected gently. “And yes. This is Obi-Wan, one of my _vod_.”

Boba’s eyes lit up. “ _Ba’vodu_?” Shmi laughed and Jango froze for a moment before smiling; when Obi-Wan woke, no doubt he would be embarrassed and pleased in equal turns to be called such.

“ _Elek_ , _ad’ika_ ,” Jango agreed. “ _Ba’vodu._ ”

Boba nodded and squirmed, reaching for Obi-Wan. Jango stood up, taking Boba with him and placing him on the bed. Immediately, Boba curled up against his side.

“ _Vod’e_ sleep in piles when we don’ feel good,” Boba declared, and Jango smiled.

“Just so, _ad’ika_. But be gentle; he was hurt.” Boba nodded and laid his head down on Obi-Wan’s arm. Satisfied that he wouldn’t cause any trouble, Jango returned to his chair.

They sat in silence for a while. Shmi thought of _cuun ade_ , still on Kamino, and what all of this meant for them. They were that much closer to their goal, now. The chains _would_ be broken. She glanced up at Jango, wondering if he was thinking about them as well, and saw him scrubbing one hand over his face roughly.

“You should sleep,” Shmi said, and Jango sighed.

“No time, yet,” he said. “The _Jorad’alor_ and his daughter will be here in a few hours.”

“And until then, you should sleep,” she repeated more firmly. Jango scowled, and she knew that he recognized that voice: that was the voice of a _mother_ , commanding an unruly child. Still, Shmi knew that he would not argue with her, and he didn’t, though he simply folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. It was not quite what she had in mind, but some sleep was better than none. She was satisfied for now, and she resumed rubbing small circles into Obi-Wan’s hand.

* * *

There was no great fanfare or procession when the _Jorad’alor_ and his daughter Satine arrived. They were led to Obi-Wan’s room much as Shmi had been, and she took them in with interest as she nodded politely and crossed a fist across her chest. Adonai Kryze was tall and regal, commanding an air of respect without effort. His daughter looked more… snobbish, eyeing Jango with poorly disguised displeasure, turning her nose up slightly. They were both wearing simple purple and blue robes, though Shmi could see that the fabrics were rich; it was an understated show of wealth and power, from those she knew could afford to be dripping in jewels. Shmi’s lips twitched in a smile as Satine caught sight of Obi-Wan behind her and her expression softened considerably.

“ _Jorad’alor_ ,” Jango greeted him, rising.

“ _Ner Mand’alor_ ,” Kryze returned, pressing his fist to his chest. His smile was relieved, and Shmi noted the lines of stress and worry on his face, the way his shoulders slumped ever-so-slightly. He had carried a heavy weight for many years, she knew, while Jango had been away. He was not meant to be both the Speaker of the people _and_ their King, though he had done an admirable job. “You claimed the Darksaber.” Jango nodded, unclipping one of the _Jetii’kad’e_ from his belt, though he did not ignite it. “Very good. It is over, then.”

“There are other _Kyr’tsad_ out there,” Jango said flatly, and Kryze raised an eyebrow.

“Many of them followed Vizla because he had the Darksaber. Without that to legitimize their claims to power, their resistance should fall quickly,” Kryze said. Jango nodded, though Shmi could see that he was not convinced. “We have much to discuss. The New Mandalorians are… concerned.”

Jango huffed, his irritation plain as his brow furrowed. Shmi fought back a smile as Satine jutted her chin forward; she had heard of Satine Kryze’s disagreements with her _buir_ , and her sympathies towards the pacifists. Somehow, Adonai Kryze, perhaps the most _reasonable_ _Mando’ad_ had ended up with two unreasonable, uncompromising daughters, on opposite sides of the spectrum.

“I don’t see why,” Jango said flatly. “There are many ways to be called to service by the _Mand’alor_ . Mandalore needs its farmers and artisans just as much as its warriors. Those who do not wish to fight will not be forced to. What I will _not_ allow is any attempt to drive us to give up our arms or armor by force--not that _pacifists_ would do so. Nor would I allow them to embrace pacifism so complete they cannot or will not defend themselves.”

Kryze nodded, looking pleased, and then turned to raise an eyebrow at Satine as if to say “there, you see?” Shmi fought back a laugh, biting her lip and turning quickly to look at Obi-Wan. Still, she felt the heat of Satine’s gaze as she glared at the back of her head.

“There is… another matter,” Kryze said. “Master Windu contacted me. He wished to gain permission for a few of the Jedi to come here, to see to Obi-Wan’s care. I was informed that their Healers can do more for him than traditional medicine can accomplish.”

Jango raised an eyebrow. “They asked for permission to come for him?”

Kryze nodded. “Specifically _your_ permission. They did not know how to contact you, and asked that I pass on their request. I believe they hope that Obi-Wan’s actions may begin to heal our relationship with them, and they do not wish to jeopardize that.”

Jango hummed. “Did they say who would be coming?”

“Master Windu and Master Yoda, representing the Jedi Council; Knight Eerin, who is a Healer well acquainted with Obi-Wan; and Obi-Wan’s Padawan Learner.”

Jango grinned and glanced at Shmi, who tilted her head in silent question. She did not know why that made him happy--perhaps Obi-Wan had already told Jango about some of these people.

“Four _Jetiise_ is fine,” Jango said, his smile turning toothy and wolfish as he looked back to Kryze. “I can handle more than four myself.”

Kryze looked uncomfortable, and Shmi smothered another laugh, knowing that it would be inappropriate and insensitive to start giggling at the reminder of how Jango had killed six of the _Jetiise_ on Galidraan with his bare hands.

“Thank you. I will inform them.”

Jango shook his head. “I will contact them myself.” Kryze blinked in surprise, but bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“Very well. Perhaps you would walk with me?” he asked, and Jango shrugged.

“Fine.”

Kryze looked to Satine. “You may remain here with him.” Satine nodded, looking relieved and grateful, and Shmi softened towards her again. The concern she obviously held for Obi-Wan was touching, even if she was a haughty little thing.

Jango glanced at Boba, who was fast asleep, still curled up against Obi-Wan’s side. “If he wakes, please keep him from causing havoc.” Shmi laughed softly and shrugged.

“You already know that he will not. It isn’t his way,” she answered simply. Jango’s answering smile was fond, and he shook his head before gesturing Kryze on to lead them out of the room.

Satine stood awkwardly near the door after they left, and Shmi turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, are you coming in?” she asked, a heavy hint of humor in her voice she could not dispel. Satine frowned at her, but walked over to the chair Jango had occupied, pulling it closer to the bed. She reached out and brushed Obi-Wan’s hair from his forehead where it had begun to fall into his eyes, her fingers lingering on his face for a moment. “How do you know him?”

“He and his Master were my protectors, during the end of the Clan Wars,” Satine murmured. “We spent a year on the run, and became… close friends.”

Shmi nodded, smiling. “He is a good man.”

“How did you meet?” Satine asked. Shmi could not tell if it was genuine curiosity or a desire to be polite that made her ask. She answered anyway.

Carefully, she said, “I was a slave, on Tatooine. Obi-Wan was there during the uprising.”

Satine raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I had thought that the stories we heard could not be true. Clearly Fett did _not_ capture him, or Obi-Wan would not have come to help.” She paused, and then chuckled. “Or perhaps he still would have. That would be typical of him.”

Shmi snorted. “Yes, it would.”

Satine smiled, and looked at Boba. “He is Fett’s son?”

“He is. Boba is a sweet child.”

Satine hummed. “I never pictured him as a father.”

“There is much you don’t know about him,” Shmi answered simply, neither condemning nor condoning her coldness towards Jango. Satine sighed and shook her head, returning her attention to Obi-Wan, gently laying one hand on his arm. Shmi saw the way that she looked at him, eyes wider and smile gentle; from what she had learned from Anakin about the Order, Obi-Wan would not be permitted to act on such things, but Shmi had no doubt that he was _loved_.

* * *

Obi-Wan woke earlier than expected. It was getting late, well after dinner, and the lights had already been dimmed. Shmi was sprawled in one of the chairs while Jango sat in the other, Boba in his lap again. When Obi-Wan began to stir, Shmi jumped up and went to him, taking his hand.

“Obi-Wan?”

He groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He frowned at Shmi. “Am I dead?”

She laughed. “No.”

“Oh,” he said, brow furrowing in confusion. “Thought _you_ were dead.” Shmi shook her head, squeezing his hand.

“I’m right here,” she soothed him. Jango slowly rose, careful not to shift Boba, who had fallen asleep again, setting him down in the chair to continue napping.

“Don’t do that again, _vod_. You nearly did die.” Obi-Wan looked over at Jango’s voice, blinking at him, confusion still plain on his face. He stared at Jango for a long moment before smiling.

“My apologies, Cody,” he said, his eyes sliding shut again. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Shmi looked up at Jango, tilting her head, and he shrugged. She looked back down to Obi-Wan, who now had a content smile on his face, his eyes closed once more. In the space of a few heartbeats, he was deeply asleep again, and she thought it safe to voice her question without confusing him further.

“Cody?” she asked, and Jango sighed.

“That’s the second time he’s called me that,” Jango said. “I don’t know who Cody is, but I think he might have been another _Mando’ad_ that he fought with, at some point. Maybe during the time he spent on Mandalore as an apprentice.” Shmi nodded, accepting the answer. “He was concussed, so he might be… confused for a while.” Shmi hummed and nodded. “We should let him rest. They’ve set up a room for us next door.”

Shmi shook her head. “You go. I will remain here--Anakin says that those touched by the Force can sense the presence of familiar people, even when they are asleep.”

Jango nodded decisively. “We’ll move the cots in here, then.”

* * *

Obi-Wan did not wake up again the next day, but Shmi was not worried. She knew that the medicine they were giving him was powerful, meant to keep him mostly asleep as he healed. She spent most of her time sitting with him, although she did allow Kain to distract her with conversation when he sought her out. For all that he was such a large man, clearly capable of so much violence, he also seemed gentle and kind in a way that she liked. Shmi was beginning to think that he might like her in turn.

Jango was agitated the next evening, pacing and gritting his teeth. Finally, Shmi could not stand it any longer, and glared at him.

“Sit down,” she ordered, and he scowled at her, but obeyed. Beside Obi-Wan, Boba giggled. “What is it?”

“The _Jetiise_ are arriving tomorrow morning.”

Shmi softened. She knew how much Galidraan had cost him, and the fire that still burned in him because of it, but she did not know if Obi-Wan had truly begun to heal those hurts, or if he was merely an exception to Jango’s hatred of them. She was not even sure if _Jango_ knew.

“I see,” she said, and then shook her head. “You have nothing to worry about. They asked for _your_ permission to come, and they are coming for Obi-Wan. They are sending four _Jetiise_ , not an army--and two of them are not even Masters of their Order. One is still only a student, likely a child.”

Jango nodded stiffly. “I know.”

“Does that help?” she asked, not unkindly, but rather pointedly. Jango sighed.

“I don’t know.”

“Tomorrow will come when it comes,” Shmi declared. “We will face the challenge as _Mando’ade_. But to have strength for tomorrow, we must sleep now.”

Jango gave her a _look_ , the one that clearly said he was not one of _cuun_ _ade_ to be ordered around, but he complied, just as he ever did. He sighed and laid down on his cot; they had pushed the chairs to the corners to make room for two more beds, with Jango on one side of Obi-Wan, and Shmi on the other. Shmi laid back as well.

Jango sat up again, looking at Boba. “Are you going to be nice and still? Or should you come sleep with me, or Shmi?”

Boba shook his head and then carefully laid himself down, gently pushing Obi-Wan’s arm away from his body so he could curl up against his side again. After a moment, Obi-Wan--still deeply asleep--turned onto his side and threw one arm over the boy, pulling him closer. Boba’s eyes went wide, and a smile broke over his face. Jango chuckled and nodded, lying back down again.

Shmi smiled. This was her _aliit_ . All that she needed now to make everything perfect was the rest of _cuun_ _ade_ , and Anakin--she pushed that thought from her mind. It would do her no good to dwell on that, not when she knew that it would probably be a very long time before she would see him again.

* * *

When Jango asked Shmi--still too _tense_ , but also with a peculiar _gleam_ in his eyes that told her he was planning something--to accompany him and Kryze to greet the _Jetiise_ , she agreed easily. She might be _Mando’ad_ , but she did not bear the same scars he did. It was no trouble to her to stand there at his side and nod at a few strangers politely.

Neither donned their _buy’ce_ , though Shmi carefully, reverently strapped on the rest of her _beskar’gam_ . She was Shmi Skywalker, and she was Amavikka, but she was not a slave--she was _Mando’ad_ now, and she would greet them as one.

Their ship landed not far from where Shmi had touched down, and she stood just behind Jango, to his right; at his left shoulder stood Adonai Kryze. Satine and Boba had remained behind, with Obi-Wan, in case he woke up again; if he was still confused, they had all agreed it would be best for him not to wake alone.

The ship was emblazoned with the crest of the Order on its side, and she had seen how Jango had stiffened at the sight of it. Shmi stepped forward and gently bumped her armored shoulder into his. _I’m here,_ vod, she said silently. Jango’s fists unclenched.

As the ramp lowered, she got her first look at _Jetiise_ who were not Obi-Wan or Master Qui-Gon: the first to emerge was a pink-skinned, hairless woman with large eyes and webbed hands, wearing the typical beige robes of the Order. She was quickly followed by a dark-skinned man, the severe caste to his features belied by the small green creature clinging to his back, holding a stick in one hand, with whisps of white hair.

And after them-- Shmi’s eyes widened. He was taller--so _much_ taller than when she’d last seen him--and his short hair was _curly_ , and the beginnings of a braid hung down from his right ear. He, too, was wearing the beige robes of the _Jetiise_. But no matter what he looked like, Shmi would know him anywhere.

Anakin’s eyes widened as he saw her, and he broke away from the other three _Jetiise_ to run to her.

“ _Buir! Amu!_ ” he cried, launching himself at her, catching her around the middle. Shmi wrapped her arms tightly around him, placing one hand on the back of his head as the other arm encircled his shoulders.

“Ani, oh, my boy. _Ner ad_ ,” she said. She felt tears well up in her eyes--her instinct was to fight it, to hold them back. Water was too precious.

But _no_ . She was not a _slave_ . She was no longer confined to Tatooine, and she had spent the past few years on an entire _planet_ covered in water. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself one silent, shuddering sob, a few of the tears falling into Anakin’s hair.

As they clung to each other, Shmi opened her eyes, barely registering the others around her. Jango was looking at her with a quiet, knowing smile--so he’d known, then, that Anakin was coming. She smiled back at him, the expression trembling as her eyes continued to glisten with tears, but it was no less genuine for it. Jango nodded to her before turning to the rest of the _Jetiise_ , who were looking at Anakin and Shmi with benevolent smiles.

The little green creature hopped down from the other man’s back, and all three of the other _Jetiise_ bowed to them.

“Master Yoda, I am,” the green one said. He seemed kind, with large, dark eyes and a broad smile on his wrinkled face. Shmi thought she might have called him “grandfather,” in another life. “Master Mace Windu, this is.” He gestured to the formerly-severe looking dark man, now sporting the barest hint of a smile. “Knight Bant Eerin, this is.” He waved his stick at the pink-skinned woman. “Know Padawan Skywalker, you already do.”

“Padawan?” Shmi repeated, pulling away from Anakin slightly to look down at him. His eyes were wet, too, as he looked up at her, and she thought his cheeks might begin to hurt if he continued smiling like that. “You are Obi-Wan’s apprentice?”

“ _Finally_ , yeah!” Anakin said. Shmi laughed.

“That’s wonderful, Ani,” she said, and pulled him back to her again. “I’m so proud of you, _ner ad_ . I’m so very _proud_.”

* * *

Obi-Wan’s room was crowded as they all packed into it. They had not bothered to move the cots out of the room, simply shoving them up against the opposing walls. Shmi sat on hers, pulling Anakin down beside her to make room for the others. Satine quietly took her leave, and Jango took Boba from Obi-Wan’s bed into his own arms, settling down in one chair in the corner as the _Jetiise_ crowded around Obi-Wan’s bed. Yoda hopped up onto the bed, settling himself down where Boba had been; Shmi was surprised at his grace, given his advanced age and the walking stick he still carried. Windu stood with his arms folded beside the bed, looking down at Obi-Wan. Eerin immediately pulled out some sort of scanner, running it over him.

“Has he woken?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” Shmi said. “Not for long.” Anakin leaned forward in her arms, trying to get a better look at Obi-Wan.

“He was concussed?” Eerin asked, peering down at the scanner.

“Yes.”

“What _happened_ to him?” she asked, frowning down at the scanner’s readings.

“He was in an underground tunnel when an explosion brought it all down on him,” Jango said flatly. “He managed to use his _Jetii_ powers to hold it long enough for the _ade_ to escape safely.”

“Oh, _Obi_ ,” Eerin sighed. “I could _strangle_ you sometimes.” She shook her head, and Anakin snorted. The sound brought an answering grin to Shmi’s face, and the familiarity eased some of the lingering tension in the room. “Well, he was smart enough to put himself into a healing trance, so most of the damage he managed to do to himself has already been repaired. Was he in a bacta tank?”

“Yes,” Jango answered shortly, and Eerin nodded at him in approval.

“Good.” She looked back down at the scanner and smiled. “Well, I’m not seeing any indications of permanent damage. Aside from whatever brain damage he was born with to make him this way.” Anakin laughed again, and Shmi blinked. They must be very good friends for her to speak of him in such a way; the way Eerin turned to Anakin, winking at him by closing one of her double eyelids, seemed to support Shmi’s assumption.

“It looks like he gave himself a case of Force exhaustion. Oh, _Obi-Wan. Honestly._ ” Turning off the scanner, she turned back to Jango. “I understand you received several burns. I could take a look at them, if you like. As a Jedi Healer, I’ve seen my fair share of ‘saber burns.”

Jango’s expression went perfectly blank, and very carefully, he said, “No, thank you.” Eerin smiled softly, no doubt understanding his reluctance, and nodded at him.

“I’m going to find his other Healers. They can stop drugging him; he’s clear to wake up, though he’ll be sore for a while yet,” Eerin said, bowing to all of them before leaving the room.

Yoda smiled, resting one of his clawed hands over Obi-Wan’s chest before closing his eyes and swaying lightly. He began to hum quietly to himself.

“I know you wanted to keep _Jetiise_ involvement a secret,” Jango said, “but that’s… not going to happen. After what he did, _everyone_ knows what he is.”

“Yes,” Windu agreed. Yoda continued his swaying and humming; Shmi wondered if this was normal for a _Jetii_ , or if he was… somehow unbalanced. Windu didn’t look away from Kenobi as he spoke, his brow furrowed lightly. “We didn’t order him to keep it secret; he chose to do so. He was… concerned.”

“Concerned?” Jango repeated, frowning thoughtfully.

Windu finally looked at him. “Yes. He was concerned about how it might be perceived by your people, if you showed back up with a Jedi in tow.”

Jango blinked, and then barked a laugh. “The ones who aren’t so happy about it seem to be content to scream at me, but they’ve yet to draw their blasters, so that’s something. Most of them are taking it in stride. What he did to help us seems to have gone far.”

Windu nodded, an edge of exasperation creeping into his expression then. “He’s always had a tendency towards dramatic self-sacrifice.”

“Rude.”

That single croaked word drew everyone’s attention to the bed where Obi-Wan was slowly blinking his eyes open. He still looked pale, and tired, but his eyes were clearer than before. Shmi laughed, part-amusement and part-relief. As Obi-Wan raised his hand to cover Yoda’s smaller one, still resting on his chest, Anakin scrambled off of the cot to dart forward, taking Obi-Wan’s other hand.

“Master!” he cried.

Shmi felt that _rage_ burst to life again as the word fell so _easily_ from Anakin’s lips. She took a deep, calming breath, and forcibly reminded herself: that was a _title_ , yes, but it was also a rank. It was _not_ a sign of ownership.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan returned, smiling fondly at him. Hearing the answering title eased a little more of the fire in Shmi, and she exhaled shakily. “Come here.” He removed his hand from Anakin’s to hold his arm out. Anakin immediately climbed up on the bed, sitting beside Obi-Wan on the other side from where Yoda still sat; Obi-Wan clumsily wrapped his arm around the boy’s waist. Shmi’s smile became more genuine at the obvious affection between the two, some of the tension releasing from between her shoulders.

Now that Shmi had seen him again, she knew that it would be that much harder to let Anakin go. But to see this warmed her--even if her _ad_ could not be with his _buir_ , he was wanted, and he was loved. It was everything she could have hoped for, all of those years in chains on Tatooine. She committed the moment to her memory, this time when everything was nearly perfect, everything slightly blurred by the tears that once more sprang forth in her eyes. For the second time in her life, Shmi cried tears of _joy_.

* * *

Obi-Wan still did not stay awake for long periods at a time, though he began to rouse more and more. The room emptied some as they came and went, but Anakin stayed resolutely at Obi-Wan’s side, and Shmi planted herself in the room precisely as she had done the last few days.

Whenever Obi-Wan woke, he smiled softly at Anakin as he rambled on about his classes, and what other _Jetiise_ were doing at the Temple. Every now and then, Obi-Wan would look to Shmi, who always smiled back fondly, and something like _relief_ would enter his eyes, though she did not understand why. Perhaps it had something to do with his mistaken belief that she had died, his confused fever-dream.

That evening, Windu, Yoda, and Eerin all went to find the rooms in the hospital they had been given, and Windu raised an eyebrow at Jango and Shmi as they prepared their cots.

“Anakin told us those with the Force know when familiar people are near, even when they are asleep,” Shmi explained, and the tension in Windu’s face had softened; Yoda had smiled gently.

“Good, that is,” the ancient little one said. “Kind.”

Shmi smiled back, and he nodded at them, patting her hand as he left, his stick tapping rhymically on the floor as he shuffled out. She was glad Anakin had chosen to stay with her, and he climbed up onto the cot and fitted himself easily at her side. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and held him tightly as she closed her eyes.

This was much better than listening to his breathing over a commlink.

* * *

They had an unexpected visitor the next morning, a _Mando’ad_ woman in some sort of scaled skirt and _beskar’gam_ , wearing a gold helmet with four prongs resembling horns atop it. Jango merely nodded at her as she crossed her fist over her chest, likely not rising due to Boba cradled on his lap; he must know her, then. The _Jetiise_ \--Windu had gone to discuss something with Kryze, leaving Yoda and Eerin present, besides Anakin, who had taken to alternating between sitting on Shmi’s cot and Obi-Wan’s--looked up at her curiously. Obi-Wan smiled at her and nodded.

“I have come to repair your _beskar’gam_ ,” she said, “if I may take it to my forge, and return it to you.”

Jango nodded. “ _Vor’e_.”

The woman tilted her head, somehow radiating amused exasperation, even with her face hidden. “This is the Way.” She turned to Obi-Wan. “And yours?”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “That would be best, unless you would prefer to use the _beskar_ to begin again. But the pieces are mostly intact, if you would wish to pass them on.”

She looked to Jango again, who rolled his eyes; Shmi brought her hand up to hide her smile. “I think not,” the woman finally said. “I will repair what is damaged, and return it to its owner.”

“I couldn’t--”

“I need a moment with him,” Jango said flatly. Eerin nodded, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder gently before leaving. Yoda peered at Obi-Wan, and then at Jango; he stared at the _Mand’alor_ for a long moment before smiling and nodding. Slowly, Jango nodded back, and Yoda jumped down from the bed.

“Come, Padawan,” Yoda ordered, motioning for Anakin to follow them. He stopped just inside the door, turning back to Jango. “Mind your _adiik_ , we will.”

Jango hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded again, more sharply this time. Yoda prodded Anakin forward with his stick, and the boy stepped forward to take the child. Anakin brought him over to Yoda, and Boba leaned forward, looking at the _Jetii_ with wide, curious eyes.

“Tiny,” Boba said, and Shmi laughed brightly as Jango tensed. Obi-Wan smothered a snort of his own, and she saw Anakin bite his lip, trying to hide a wide grin. It didn’t work. “Like me!”

Yoda smiled at the boy, slow and sleepy, his ears perking up. He nodded sagely. “Right you are, though size matters not,” Yoda said. “And tiny, I will remain; grow, you will. A giant to me, you will become, hmm?”

Boba giggled, and Jango relaxed, nodding to the old Master once more as the trio left the room, leaving only Obi-Wan in his bed, the armorer watching them, and Shmi, legs folded beneath her on her cot.

“Jango, you know I can’t keep it,” Obi-Wan sighed as soon as the door had closed behind them. “It’s wrong for _beksar’gam_ to sit idle, collecting dust, and I couldn’t wear it. I can’t swear to the _Resol’nare_ , and so I have no _right_ to wear it.”

Jango took a deep breath, and Shmi tilted her head curiously. “You can’t swear to the _Resol’nare_ because it demands allegiance to me, and that would conflict with your vows to your Order.”

Obi-Wan nodded, something wistful and sad in his expression. “Yes.”

Jango nodded. “Then swear to this: _Ba'jur bal beskar'gam; ara'nov, aliit; Mando'a bal ka’ra._ ” Obi-Wan blinked, and Jango shrugged stiffly, not quite able to capture the casual attitude Shmi thought he had tried for, too tense as he awaited Obi-Wan’s answer. “It’s the closest I could come to your ‘Force.’”

Obi-Wan stared at him, and then he nodded slowly, the barest hint of a smile crossing his face. “ _Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal ka’ra: an vencuyan mhi._ ”

Jango nodded back, a smile of his own crossing his face. “Then you are _Mando’ad_.”

“So I witness,” the woman said, bowing her head. “I will repair your _beskar’gam_ , and return it to you.” Obi-Wan finally stopped arguing, merely nodding instead, a stunned expression fixed on his face, smiling almost dazedly.

“ _Vor’e_.”

The woman nodded and turned to Shmi, looking her over. She tilted her head. “Your _beskar’gam_ is not entirely _beskar_. What requires replacement?”

Shmi blinked, not having expected the offer. “My _cetare_ are durasteel.”

The woman nodded. “I will forge replacements.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Jango and crossed her fist over her heart before leaving.

There was a long silence, and then Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, looking at Jango. “ _Vor entye._ ”

Jango nodded slowly. “Now that you are _Mando’ad_ , there is… something I need to tell you.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully. “Is this about Kamino?” Over his head, Shmi and Jango exchanged startled _looks_ , and Obi-Wan sighed. “I thought as much.”

“How… did you _know_ ?” Shmi asked. They had been so _careful_ . She had changed locations each time she made her calls to Anakin, never calling from the same place twice, and never within range of the watery world. She had never even told Anakin that she was with Jango, only referring to him as her _vod_ or her _alor_.

Unless Obi-Wan had already _known_ , unless the wider Order _had_ sanctioned it, and it wasn’t just the work of a rogue Master and the scheming Senate--

“I receive visions, from the Force,” Obi-Wan explained gently. Jango frowned, fixing him with an intent stare.

“You know what they are meant for?” Obi-Wan nodded, frowning himself at that. “And you didn’t do anything?”

“I wasn’t certain it had actually happened,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Not until I saw Boba.”

Jango nodded slowly, and Shmi relaxed. He hadn’t _known_ , not for sure--he wasn’t the one who bound these _ade_ in chains. He was not _depur_.

She had not given Anakin to _depur_.

“I can’t leave them this way,” Jango said, voice quiet but hard as _beskar_ . “They are _cuun_ _ade._ They deserve to be free.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was brilliant and sweet, and he looked brighter for it despite his still too-pale skin and tired eyes. Shmi felt a spark of _hope_ at the expression. “I presume you have a plan?”

* * *

Satine Kryze made another appearance that evening, visiting for the first time since Obi-Wan had properly woken, and they all left the room to give them time together. As Shmi waited out in the hall, one hand resting on Anakin’s shoulder, Kain approached them, a brilliant smile on his face.

“Shmi! Good to see you again,” he said, his deep, booming voice bringing an immediate smile to her face. She felt herself flush just the slightest bit. As Kain grew closer, he looked down at Anakin. “And who’s this?”

“ _Ner ad,_ Anakin,” she said, and Anakin beamed up at Kain.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Kain said, and he sounded so _earnest_. Shmi felt another little flutter. “I am Kain Tom’e, of House Kryze.”

“Pleased to meet--” Anakin started.

Satine chose that moment to _fling_ the door to Obi-Wan’s room open, storming out of it. Shmi thought she saw tears in the girl’s eyes, her shoulders shaking, and Shmi frowned, peering into the room. Obi-Wan was perched on the edge of the bed, shaking his head and staring at the ground, his hands on either side of him, fisting the sheets.

“ _Tion’gar jate?_ ” Shmi asked, and Obi-Wan looked up. He looked… sad, but he managed a smile for her.

“ _Jate_ ,” he said. Shmi nodded slowly, not quite believing him, but she would not press if he did not wish to tell her what had just happened.

“How old are you?” Kain asked Anakin.

“Twelve. I’ll be thirteen in a few months, though.” Anakin said, and Kain laughed.

“A bit too young, then,” he said, and Anakin frowned at him as Shmi raised an eyebrow. “For _beskar’gam_.”

“Oh, I couldn’t anyway,” Anakin said, a frown tugging at his lips. “I can’t swear the _Resol’nare_. I’m a Jedi.”

Kain blinked at him. “Your Master did.”

Anakin’s eyes widened, growing comically large, and Shmi laughed. “He _what_?” Anakin turned, dislodging Shmi’s hand as he whirled around, marching into Obi-Wan’s room. Shmi watched him go and shook her head, turning back to Kain.

“Was he not supposed to know?” Kain asked, and Shmi shrugged.

“I imagine it would become obvious, when Obi-Wan returns to the Temple in full _beskar’gam_ ,” she teased. “But we hadn’t had a chance to tell everyone yet.”

“Ah,” Kain said, grimacing lightly. “My apologies, then, for the way he found out.”

“ _Cui ogir'olar,_ ” Shmi said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Kain smiled and nodded.

“I hear Kenobi will be released soon,” Kain said slowly, and Shmi smiled brightly.

“Yes, he’s recovered quite well.”

“His release means that I’m going to run out of convenient excuses to see you,” Kain joked, and Shmi smiled as that fluttering sensation consumed her stomach again. “But I would like to see you again, nonetheless.”

Shmi nodded slowly. “I would like that, too.”

Kain’s answering grin was pleased and warm and genuine and _kind_. He held his hand out, and Shmi accepted the piece of flimsi he offered. “This is my comm code. Call me next time you’re around, yeah?”

Shmi nodded, and Kai kept his arm extended. She clasped it, wrist to elbow, and his much larger hand wrapped around her arm.

“ _Ret'urcye mhi,_ ” he said, and winked at her. Shmi was glad that Anakin was with Obi-Wan as her cheeks flushed.

She certainly _hoped_ she would meet Kain again. That little flutter in her stomach was far from unpleasant.

* * *

Shmi sat with Anakin in her lap, listening with half an ear as Obi-Wan talked him through the finer points of some sort of philosophy he was assigned to study. It was comforting, being given even this small glimpse into Anakin’s new life, knowing what he was learning. Obi-Wan was kind and patient, and rarely had to explain himself more than once, seeming to know just what to say to ensure that Anakin understood. Shmi still did not understand; she had no idea what the Second Treatise on Force Structures was. All the same, Obi-Wan had a pleasant voice, and Anakin’s exclamations of understanding as he grasped each point made her smile.

Shmi was glad for the quiet moment, with Yoda, Windu, and Jango having gone to meet with Kryze, settling something political. Jango had invited her to join them, but she had declined in order to spend what precious little time she could with her _ad_. Jango had glanced at Anakin, a small, understanding smile on his face, and simply nodded. Eerin, for her part, had taken to roaming the halls, offering her Force healing to any who might be willing to accept it. Shmi was pleasantly surprised by how many agreed.

The moment was broken by the door opening with a sharp _bang_ , and Shmi tensed before taking in the woman at the door. She was wearing the rumpled blue tunics that spoke of an extended stay in the medical center, and leaning on crutches; her right pant leg was rolled up, bandages covering the stump that ended just above where her knee would have been.

But it was her face that drew Shmi in, that made her stare in recognition.

“Saiya?”

“Shm’ika!” Saiya called back, grinning widely at her. “I was hoping I would see you.” Without waiting for a response, Saiya turned to Obi-Wan and raised an eyebrow, leaning more heavily on her left leg to wave her right crutch around. “Well? You gonna invite me in and let me sit down or what?”

Obi-Wan barked a laugh and raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the chair beside the bed he still occupied (and had not left, thanks to heavy threats of medical restrictions from Eerin; apparently Healers were the only ones who could cow Obi-Wan, and Shmi had noted it with heavy amusement). “By all means. Anakin, this is Saiya.”

“I remember you!” Anakin said, watching as she made her way over to the chair and threw herself down into it gratefully. “You were on Tatooine with us.”

“I was,” Saiya agreed, smiling back at him broadly.

“Did you help the _Mand’alor_ too?” Anakin asked, and Saiya nodded.

“Of course I did,” she said. “Even if I hadn’t sworn the _Resol’nare_ , he earned my loyalty after Tatooine.” Anakin nodded and threw Obi-Wan a light glare. “What?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “He’s a bit put out that I didn’t fully explain those events before now,” he explained, and Sayia nodded slowly.

“Trying to hide his involvement, right?” Obi-Wan nodded, and Saiya snorted. “Not like you two could keep your friendship secret after this, _vod_.” Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, but didn’t deny it. “How long are you stuck in here?”

“We’ll be heading back to the Temple tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said, and then he grimaced. “I’ll be lucky if I’m not surrendered immediately to the Healers, I fear.”

Saiya snorted and shook her head. “You’re telling me. They want to keep me for another two weeks, even though the prosthetic is going to be ready in two days.”

Obi-Wan looked up at her, and Shmi could clearly see the concern and sorrow on his face. “I am sorry about your leg, Saiya.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like _you_ planted those bombs. And I think I just wasn’t meant to have it,” she joked. “It was the same leg my transmitter was in, and the _same leg_ that got shot during the uprising. And besides…” Saiya started to blush, and Shmi smiled at the sweetness of her suddenly shy expression. “If I _hadn’t_ lost the leg, I wouldn’t have been rescued by Patri.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and Shmi wondered who Patri was. “Oh?”

Saiya nodded slowly. “So you should enjoy looking at my beautiful face for as long as you can. I’m swearing to the Creed after I get out of here, and… Well, we’ve met a few times before, in the last couple years, and after this, he finally stopped beating around the bush. He asked me to say the _riduurok_ with him, after I swear to the Creed.”

“That’s wonderful!” Obi-Wan said, smiling softly at her. Saiya’s face was still flushed, but she looked pleased.

Shmi had always _known_ , all those years on Tatooine, that the Amavikka were meant for more than what _depur_ had had in store for them. She had pushed down that sensation after a time; she had told herself that it was merely the stories of her people, giving them hope and purpose where they otherwise had none.

But in that moment, sitting with Anakin pressed against her, beaming at her friend who had once worn the same chains Shmi had been born into, that _Anakin_ had been born into, Shmi knew that she had been right. She met Saiya’s eyes from across the room and smiled. She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then over her heart.

* * *

 _Beskar’gam_ suited Obi-Wan. From the time Shmi had first met him, she had thought him to be a great warrior--it was apparent in the way he carried himself, somewhat stiff despite his grace with the tension he held coiled within his body, ready to fall into combat at the smallest signal; it was apparent in the way that he scanned each room or new person for threats; it was apparent in his eyes, and the way that beautiful green-blue swirl would go icy grey at the first sign of trouble.

Shmi knew what Anakin had learned, and what he had told her in turn: “The _Jetiise_ are peacekeepers, not soldiers.” That may have been true for many of them--it had certainly felt that way for Master Qui-Gon, who had given her the impression of a firmly rooted tree, swaying gently in the wind. But not Obi-Wan. He might be a _Jetii_ , but whatever life he’d lived, it had made him a fighter. He was _mandokarla_ , and when Shmi glanced at Jango, she saw the small hint of a smile on his face as he surveyed the repaired and repainted _beskar’gam_ , and she knew he thought the same.

“Interesting additions,” Obi-Wan commented mildly, shaking his head. On the left pauldron, the armorer had added a silver mythosaur--the symbol of the _Haat Mando’ade_ , and more than that, it was the symbol of the _Mand’alor_. On the right, in the same silver paint, was the symbol of the Order.

“Fitting,” Jango said gruffly, and Shmi smiled, realizing that he was trying to hide his own grin. Obi-Wan must have realized it as well, and he softened, nodding at Jango.

“Quite apt,” he agreed. “Now we only have to hope that I’m not censured for this.”

Jango snorted and shook his head. Reaching down, he unclipped one of the _Jetii’kad’e_ from his belt, holding it out to Obi-Wan. “It’s about time you had that back.”

Obi-Wan smiled and nodded as he clipped it to his own belt. “I knew I was right to trust you with it,” he said, his smile turning playful. “It likes you.”

Jango frowned, and Obi-Wan snorted and shook his head. Shmi wondered what that meant, and if it meant something to Jango.

The little room became quite crowded as the other _Jetii_ began to return. Anakin was first, stopping to look Obi-Wan over with wide eyes, before bounding over to him.

“That’s so _cool_!” Anakin exclaimed, reaching out to touch one of Obi-Wan’s vambraces. Obi-Wan chuckled.

“I’m glad you like it,” Obi-Wan said warmly, reaching out to squeeze one of Anakin’s shoulders. Shmi smiled. Her chest ached in a way it hadn’t since she had told Anakin not to look back, watching as he followed Master Qui-Gon off into the desert to begin a new life without her. She _knew_ that she would let him go again--she had done it once, and knew that she had enough strength for it, but that did not mean it would not _hurt_ to lose him again. But moments like this made it easier, when she could be reassured that she was giving him up to someone who _loved_ him.

“What is _that_ ?” They all looked up at Windu’s voice, and Shmi resisted the urge to laugh at his _flummoxed_ expression, his mouth screwed up unattractively as he fought to understand what he was seeing.

“ _Beskar’gam_ ,” Obi-Wan answered lightly, raising one eyebrow.

Windu frowned and turned to Jango. “I was under the impression that one had to swear to the _Resol’nare_ to wear Mandalorian armor.”

Jango shrugged. “He did.” Windu’s frown became a grimace, and he turned to Obi-Wan, who only laughed.

“The _Mand’alor_ was kind enough to make a… religious exemption,” Obi-Wan said.

“A religious exemption,” Windu repeated flatly. He looked as though he was developing a headache, his expression growing pinched.

“ _Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal ka’ra_ ,” Obi-Wan repeated his oath. “That is what I swore.” Windu’s grimace turned to a thoughtful frown as he translated.

“The stars?” he asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“‘ _Ka’ra_ ’ is difficult to translate into Basic,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Generally, it means ‘stars,’ but it also means ‘guiding light.’ It was the closest he could come to the Force, since there is no word in Mando’a for it.” Shmi noted that he did _not_ say that it was also the mythical ruling Council of ancient Mandalorian kings, although she was certain he knew, and she smirked to herself. Across the room, she noticed Jango sporting a similar expression--so that _had_ been intentional, then, and Obi-Wan _had_ sworn a sort of fealty to the rulers of Mandalore, after a fashion. Obi-Wan spread his arms, shrugging. “So I have sworn to nothing that conflicts with my vows to the Order.”

Windu stared at him, lips pursed, for a long moment, before finally sighing and shaking his head. “You’re on your own, explaining this to the rest of the Council.”

“Will I get _beskar’gam_?” Anakin asked. “I know I can’t now, but when I’m…” He glanced at Shmi.

“Fourteen.”

“When I’m fourteen, will _I_ get _beskar’gam_?” Anakin asked, looking from Shmi, to Obi-Wan, to Jango, who only grinned toothily. Windu groaned and brought one hand up to rub at his temple.

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan answered slowly, and Anakin beamed, apparently taking that as a yes.

“It’s time to go,” Windu said dully, putting an end to _that_ line of conversation. Shmi bit back a laugh, a strange sort of sympathetic _pity_ for the Master coming over her as he turned on his heel and left. It was apparently his job to wrangle an entire _Order_ of people like Obi-Wan Kenobi. Shmi did not envy him.

“That went… better than expected,” Obi-Wan muttered, and Anakin snorted.

“He likes you,” Anakin said with a shrug. “He’s just so _grouchy_ all the time.” He looked up hopefully at Obi-Wan. “Do you think Master Kit would help me play a prank on him? He _really_ needs to lighten up.”

Obi-Wan himself sputtered a laugh, and then shook his head. “I’m going to forget you asked me that, Padawan,” he said, pausing to wink at Anakin. “Plausible deniability is a wonderful thing.”

Anakin snorted again, and Obi-Wan ruffled his short hair. Shmi felt the vice wrapped around her heart loosen somewhat. Her _ad_ could not be with _her_ , but she had seen time and time again these past few days that he was loved. And he was _free_. What more could she have ever hoped for?

* * *

Jango and Shmi walked them to the ship, and Shmi noted with a pleased little grin how many of the _Mando’ade_ around them paused to cross their fists over their chests as Jango passed, and how many nodded to Obi-Wan, who was carrying his _buy’ce_ under one arm. He had such a _recognizable_ face--even Shmi had seen the footage from the reactor room on Naboo, and his reputation had only grown since then. Seeing one of the most well-known of the _Jetiise_ in _beskar’gam_ clearly caused several double-takes and whispers, but there was no _hostility_ . After what Obi-Wan had done for them, and how Jango had claimed him as one of their own, he was no enemy of theirs. No matter what the rest of the _Jetiise_ were to them, _this one_ was _Mando’ad_ . It made the fire within Shmi spark and purr with satisfaction, and it gave her hope for the rest of her _ade_. The things they could accomplish together...

Adonai Kryze was there to see the _Jetiise_ off, but Shmi noted that Satine was absent. She wondered what had happened to send her running, in tears, from Obi-Wan’s room, but decided it did not matter. She would not pry.

Eerin blinked at Obi-Wan and his _beskar’gam_ , but said nothing before nodding to them all. Yoda tapped his stick on the ground as they approached, a pleased little grin on his face. He nodded to them, looking vaguely approving, and some of the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders loosened.

“Thank you, we do, for the care of our Knight,” Yoda said, bowing to Jango.

Jango paused, clenching his jaw briefly before nodding. “And we thank you for the help of your Order.”

Shmi smiled broadly; she knew what it cost for Jango to say such a thing, and the forgiveness he was trying to show was admirable. Besider her, Anakin pressed a bit closer to her side, and she glanced down; he was smiling, too. She did not know what he knew of Galidraan, and of Jango’s history, but he at least seemed to sense that this was a significant moment. Shmi reached out to squeeze one of his shoulders gently.

“Righted, we have, our old wrong,” Yoda said gravely. “Made, amends have been. A friendship, we may form, I hope. Hmm?”

“ _Cin vhetin_ ,” Jango answered, and Yoda nodded, smiling again, his ears pricking up.

“ _Ret'urcye mhi, Mand’alor_.” Jango blinked at the Mando’a coming from the small troll, and then his lips twitched in a small smile.

“ _Ret’urcye mhi_.”

With that, Yoda prodded at Windu with the end of his stick. Windu scowled, but knelt to allow the old Master to climb up on to his back. Shmi snorted and shook her head in amusement. Windu glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile, before his expression smoothed again. He turned to Jango and nodded to him, the closest he could come to a bow with the troll on his back; Jango nodded in return. With that, Windu turned and stalked towards the ship with as much dignity as he could manage.

“I miss you,” Anakin said, turning to look up at her. Shmi forced her smile to remain in place and cupped his cheek with one hand.

“Don’t look back, Ani,” she whispered, and almost regretted it as his eyes filled with tears. “I’m so proud of you. Always remember that.”

Anakin nodded, looking serious and far older than his age. It made her heart ache, yet another reminder of their last parting. “I will. I love you.”

“And I will always love you,” Shmi answered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eerin climb up the ramp and disappear into the ship; only Obi-Wan was left, speaking quietly with Jango. “You must go, now.”

“I know,” Anakin whispered, and then he swallowed hard, nodding to himself. “I’ll see you again.” He said it with such _certainty_ that Shmi just had to smile.

“Yes,” she agreed, and it felt like a prophecy, like something _destined_ to be, although she knew that she had no reason or right to promise such a thing. “You will.”

Anakin took a deep breath and nodded, finally smiling again, although it was tainted by his still-watery eyes. He hugged her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. Shmi knew that it must be uncomfortable, with her _beskar’gam_ in the way, but she held him just as tightly. After a long moment, she drew back; Anakin took a moment longer, reluctant to let her go.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan asked gently. Anakin turned to him and nodded. Obi-Wan’s expression was gentle as he nodded. “Into the ship, then. I need a moment more.” Anakin nodded again, and with one last, lingering look at Shmi, he turned towards the ship.

“You won’t have to mask your transmission locations anymore,” Jango offered softly. “You can call him as much as you like.”

Shmi smiled, but said nothing. Obi-Wan seemed to sense that she simply had no words, at that moment, too overwhelmed by both pride and grief, and he spoke first. “I sense that it isn’t time for me to visit Kamino yet. Something important is going to happen soon--perhaps after that. I’ll keep in touch.”

Jango nodded, and then held out his right arm. Obi-Wan smiled and clasped it, hand to elbow. “ _K’oyacyi, vod_.”

“ _K’oyacyi, ner Mand’alor_ ,” Obi-Wan answered quietly. They let go, and he turned to Shmi. “I have no right or cause to say this, but… I am very proud of you, Shmi.”

And it was true: he did not really have any cause to say that _he_ was proud of her. He was neither her father nor her teacher; he had no right to be _proud_. But all the same, Shmi felt a pleased flush rise in her cheeks, and she grinned at him.

“ _Vor’e_.” Shmi offered her own arm, and when Obi-Wan clasped it as he had Jango’s, she tugged him closer. Into his ear, she said, “Take care of him.”

Obi-Wan’s response was immediate and earnest: “Always. _Ret'urcye mhi_ , Shmi Skywalker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more Mando'a note:  
> Ba'jur bal beskar'gam; ara'nov, aliit; Mando'a bal ka'ra. An vencuyan mhi.: Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our langauge, and the stars. All help us survive. (The Resol'nare, or the Six Actions; the basic tenets of Mandalorian culture)
> 
> I didn't want to risk spoiling that part of the story for anybody up in the initial notes.
> 
> So, Obi-Wan is safe! You didn't really think I'd kill him this early, did you? ;) I hope y'all enjoyed the fluff and bonding in this chapter, because next chapter, shit is really going to start hitting the fan...


	11. Padme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so sorry for that! It just... wanted to end right there.
> 
> I also got a couple of comments about my "wouldn't kill him this early" crack. It made me realize that, holy cow, this story is already 125k+ words! But, yes, this is very early on in the story overall; it's probably going to end up being a trilogy, although right now I've got the first two parts planned out.
> 
> Thank you so very much for all of your comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! They always make me smile. And we finally hired another person for my department at work, so hopefully I'll have time again soon to be able to respond to comments! In the meantime, please know that I do love each and every one of them. <3

Padme frowned as she looked down at Coruscant through the ship’s viewport. It was just as ugly as it had seemed to her last time; the planet felt so  _ devoid _ of life, despite the many people inhabiting it. But there was no  _ nature _ to speak of, the last vestigial oceans having been covered over by buildings centuries ago, every inch of dry land having been built up long before then. Now the entire planet was one massive city, and without greenery, without any blue oceans, it felt… soulless.  Perhaps that soulless quality had spread to the people as well. That was what the Naboo believed, after all--the spirit came from The Goddess, who encompassed all nature, all living things, and all living things would return to it once the body had passed, waiting to be born again. Perhaps residing in such a soulless place was what had made the Senate and the Republic they served become so soulless themselves.

“Please strap in, m’lady,” the pilot said. “We’re about to land.”

Padme nodded and went to join her handmaidens in the main sitting area of the ship. Sabe was acting as Queen, for now. Padme knew that she would need all of her strength to address the Senate--she had not forgotten her first appeal to them, and how draining and disheartening it had been. She knew that this speech would be even harder to give.

“We’re landing, your Highness,” Padme said, and Sabe nodded. She looked grim, even with the heavy make up on. On either side of her, Rabe and Eirtee looked similarly grave. Padme did not want to think about what her own face showed, instead busying herself with buckling in and adjusting the straps and her clothing.

Finally, she felt the slight shudder that meant they had landed, and distantly, she heard the engines stop. She rose, nodding to her handmaidens, and took a deep breath. The ramp lowered, and Padme blinked to adjust to the harsh light as Sabe went first, followed by the others. Padme fell into line last, keeping her head down and dark red velvet hood up.

“Ah, Your Highness,” she heard Senator Palpatine greet Sabe. “It is always a pleasure to see you, although I do wish the circumstances were different.”

“As do I, Senator,” Sabe said. She did not need to add any gravitas to her tone; she sounded somber enough speaking genuinely. Padme’s heart ached at the sound of it. “But our people have spoken.”

“Yes, they have,” Senator Palpatine agreed with a heavy sigh. Padme watched from the corner of her eye as he offered his arm to Sabe. She bowed her head and took it, allowing him to lead her from the platform and into the 500 Republica.

Padme watched them go, remaining at the end of the ramp. Captain Panaka stopped beside her.

“M’lady?”

“I’d like to visit a few old friends,” Padme said, a smile finding its way onto her face for the first time since she’d heard the results of the vote on Naboo. “Do you think you could find us a speeder?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said softly. She had a feeling he knew precisely where she wanted to go. “Right away.”

* * *

Padme had seen the Jedi Temple before; Master Jinn had pointed it out to little Ani, as they had approached the landing platform near the Senate building that first trip to Coruscant. But that had been from afar; up close, it was even larger than she had expected. It was nothing like the castles and statues on Naboo, with their soft colors set against gleaming white. The Temple was uniformly beige-white stone, although it was beautiful in its own way. As she looked at the spires, rising above the ziggurat, Padme wondered if the stories about the Temple covering the tip of a mountain were true. It certainly seemed tall enough.

Captain Panaka stopped the speeder at the main entrance, at her insistence. Padme did not know what the procedure was for visiting the Temple, and she had felt a bit bad at the way Captain Panaka gritted his teeth as she insisted on simply walking up to the main entrance, but she wanted this to be a surprise. She wasn’t going to  _ comm ahead _ .

This might be her last happy moment on Coruscant, after all. Padme planned to take full advantage.

Walking the steps up to the Temple, it seemed even larger than it had at first glance--almost intimidating. Padme had not felt small since her people had made her Queen--not even during the invasion, facing down an army of battledroids, had Padme felt so  _ small  _ as she did when looking up at the Temple.

The doors were guarded by two fully-covered Knights, holding staves, their blank masks somewhat unsettling. She nodded to them, and they nodded back, but otherwise did not move. Cautiously, she approached the entryway.

Padme gasped as she entered--the main hall was  _ beautiful _ . It was so large and airy, with enormous columns several stories high holding up the vaulted ceiling. There were a few Jedi around, mostly in pairs, walking through the atrium with their heads bowed. One tall Master--Padme assumed this was a Master, given the woman’s greying hair, tied into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her severe demeanor--made her way toward Padme.

“Welcome to the Temple,” the woman said, bowing. Padme nodded back. “Do you require a guide?”

“Yes, please,” Padme said. The woman nodded.

“I am Jocasta Nu,” she introduced herself.

“Well met, Master Nu. I am Padme Naberrie, handmaiden to Her Highness, the Queen of Naboo,” Padme answered. The woman blinked at her, and then smiled.

“Ah, I see. You must be here to visit Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi,” she said, and Padme nodded. “This way, please.”

Padme followed Master Nu through the atrium, Captain Panaka always a few steps behind. She wanted to tell him to calm down--they were in the  _ Jedi Temple _ , after all. What harm could come to her here? But she knew that he would fret regardless--it seemed to be his default state.

Master Nu seemed to be an expert on the Temple. As she led them down the halls, up a flight of stairs, and towards a lift, she kept up a steady, even stream of information: “This sculpture relief was originally carved after the first expansion of the Temple ziggurat, but had to be heavily restored after the Sacking of Coruscant.” “This turbolift was once a hand-carved stone spiral staircase. When the lift was installed, the stones were reused to expand the creche.” “The Room of a Thousand Fountains is the largest self-contained garden within the inner core and contains over six thousand different species of flora.”

Padme paid rapt attention, and she got the feeling Master Nu was pleased by her curiosity. Finally, they came to a residential wing, apartment doors dotting the halls, and Master Nu stopped before one of the doors. Padme saw the nameplate and smiled: JINN / KENOBI / SKYWALKER.

“All three of them live together?” she asked, and Master Nu hit the door chime before sighing softly.

“Their situation is… unusual,” Master Nu said, though the statement was free of any judgement--she sounded almost… fond. “Most Knights move into their own quarters after their Ceremony, but Knight Kenobi wished to stay with Master Jinn, to help him recover from his injury, at first. After that, they became mission partners, and space seemed… unnecessary.”

“I’m glad they’re together,” Padme said. “Families should not be forced to be apart.” Master Nu turned to give her an approving, warm smile, and then the door opened.

“Hi, Master Nu!” Padme caught a glimpse of Anakin around the woman as the Jedi bowed to each other. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, thank you, Padawan Skywalker,” she said gently.

“Oh… Are you here about that datapad on the Alderaani Treatise on Sentient Rights? I know it’s late, but we just got back a few weeks ago, and I had to finish my paper first. I was going to return it tomorrow, I swear!”

Master Nu chuckled, and Padme brought her hand up to smother a laugh of her own. “No, Padawan Skywalker. Force knows when I would have the time to chase down every overdue volume. You were given an automatic extension in deference to your time away.”

“That’s a relief. Thanks, Master!” Anakin frowned thoughtfully. “But what can I do for you?”

“I escorted your visitor here,” Master Nu said, and then stepped aside.

Anakin was taller, and his hair was cut short, with the beginnings of a braid swinging down to brush his shoulder. His eyes lit up as he saw Padme, and before he could bow, she smiled at him and said, “Padawan Skywalker, how good it is to see you. The Queen has business on Coruscant, and regrets that she could not come herself. But we remember your kindness, and I wished to see you again.”

She winked at him, and smiled softly at the absolutely  _ adorable _ flush that rose on his cheeks.

“It’s good to see you again, Handmaiden Naberrie,” he said, going along with her ruse. He still bowed, and Padme reminded herself that all Jedi did that, no matter who they were addressing. “Would you like to come in?” Padme nodded, and Anakin stepped back. “Thank you, Master Nu!”

The woman bowed again, smiling at them, before tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robes and walking off down the corridor. Padme looked to Captain Panaka, but he simply leaned against the wall across from the door, folding his arms over his chest. Why he felt the need to guard a hallway in the Jedi Temple was beyond her, but she sent him a warm smile before following Anakin further into their quarters. The door shut behind them, and Padme turned her attention to the rooms before her.

They weren’t quite what she’d expected. From the way they dressed, and given what she knew of their philosophies, Padme had almost expected something… ascetic. They  _ were _ a religious order, after all, and it wouldn’t have surprised her to find that they lived in stone chambers.

It eased something in her to see the comfort of the space around her. It was simple, but there were little touches that made her smile: there was a plush, colorful rug beneath the caff table, and the long sofa and two armchairs looked comfortably broken in--and one chair sported a rather  _ hideous _ bright green pillow that made Padme giggle at the homeliness of it--and there was a beautiful tapestry on the wall above the couch, intricately woven to show the Temple. And  _ everywhere _ , there were plants, mostly green, but interspersed with purple or blue, some yellow and orange. Many of them Padme had never even seen before, although she recognized the vine she had gifted Master Qui-Gon.

“This is lovely,” Padme said honestly, a smile crossing her face. Anakin beamed at her.

“Thanks. Can I take your cloak?” he asked politely, and she nodded; he took it from her and neatly hung it up in a closet near the front door. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“We have red, green, or black.”

“Which one is your favorite?” Padme asked, and Anakin’s eyes lit up.

“The red one’s the best. It’s from Tatooine. Obi-Wan-- _ Master  _ Obi-Wan--picked up some last time he was there,” Anakin said as he moved towards the kitchen. Padme followed, smiling at the tidy but obviously well-used kitchen. She saw neatly labelled jars of spices sitting out on the counter, and the kettle was already out and resting on the stovetop, and she could almost picture the domestic scenes she was sure played out here. “Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan aren’t back yet. How long can you stay?”

“The rest of the evening, actually,” Padme said, smiling softly. “Sabe has taken the burden of the crown for me for today. I fear she’ll be stuck in meetings with Senator Palpatine for quite some time.”

Anakin glanced back to her, and she had to stifle a giggle at the utter  _ disgust _ on his face. Quickly, he turned back to the kettle, busying himself with making tea and taking the convenient excuse to hide his expression. “That sounds awful. I’m glad you were able to escape.”

Padme did laugh at that. “‘Escape’ is a good word for it. This is my reprieve before the politicking begins in earnest tomorrow. But nevermind that--how have you been? I want to hear all about your adventures.”

Anakin nodded eagerly and brought them both a cup of tea, settling down at the kitchen table across from her. He reached up to fiddle with his braid. “I’m officially Obi-Wan’s Padawan now! I mean  _ Master _ Obi-Wan. That happened about a month or so ago, and I guess he was supposed to stay here in the Temple for a while, so we could have some time to get used to being paired, but then the  _ Mand’alor _ called and asked for his help.”

Padme blinked. “The  _ Mand’alor _ ?” she repeated. Anakin nodded. “Isn’t the Mandalore system separate from the Republic?”

“Yes?” Anakin said, looking confused by the question.

She frowned, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I was unaware that those outside the Republic could ask the Order for help.”

Anakin sighed, his confusion melting into exasperation. “That’s something that  _ really _ upsets Master Obi-Wan. He thinks that we’re too restricted by the Senate, and we spend too much time going where they tell us instead of where we’re really  _ needed _ . I think that’s getting better, though, with Chancellor Antilles. But still, a lot of people don’t  _ know  _ that you don’t have to ask the Senate to get our help, and you don’t have to be in the Republic either.”

Padme sighed, a small, tired smile working its way onto her face. “That’s very good to know. Still, I’m surprised that Mandalore would ask for the Order’s help.”

“I think it was more  _ Obi-Wan’s _ help they wanted, not the Order in general,” Anakin answered with an easy shrug. “He’s really good at making friends with people who want to kill him at first.”

Padme laughed brightly. “That’s a good skill to have, although I’m not sure how anyone could dislike him. Obi-Wan is so kind, it’s impossible not to see that once you meet him.”

Anakin’s smile was broad and fond. “He  _ is _ the best, isn’t he?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, Obi-Wan helped the  _ Mand’alor _ clear out  _ Kyr’tsad _ , but he was injured, so it took a while for him to come back. The Council was… well, they weren’t happy about it, and they’ve kept us grounded in the Temple since then.” Anakin grinned. “But when I went to see Obi-Wan on Concord Dawn, when he was hurt, I saw my mom there.”

Padme gasped, a gleeful smile crossing her face. “That’s wonderful! I heard about the uprising--was that when she was freed?”

“Yeah,” Anakin confirmed, smiling just as widely as she was. “Then she swore the  _ Resol’nare _ . She’s Mandalorian, now.”

“Oh my,” Padme said, blinking in surprise. She could not quite picture that warm, gentle woman from Tatooine who had offered them shelter during the storm, and the greater gift of her son’s help, as a  _ warrior _ .

“Yeah,” Anakin repeated, smiling.

The door opened, and they both looked towards it. Padme smiled as she saw Master Jinn, followed by Obi-Wan. Padme blinked, and then blinked again, and then once more, but the image remained the same: he was wearing  _ armor _ , an entire set of it, only his head left uncovered. He looked striking, pale skin and red hair--and he had a  _ beard _ , now--in stark contrast with the black-and-silver metal.

“Your Highness,” Master Jinn greeted her calmly, bowing, as though her appearance was no surprise to him at all. Padme mentally cursed Captain Panaka, probably still standing just outside the door. He’d given her away and ruined the surprise.

Beside Master Jinn, Obi-Wan bowed as well, though he also crossed his right fist over his chest in a Mandalorian gesture of respect. “It is good to see you again.”

“Please, I am Padme,” she said, and rose slowly to walk over to them. She was distantly aware of Anakin just behind her. “Anakin told me that his mother is now Mandalorian. I did not realize you were as well.”

“It’s a recent development,” Obi-Wan said casually, as though being a Mandalorian  _ Jedi _ was not unheard of. Padme smiled.

“It suits you,” she said, and he smiled back, looking pleased.

“Would you care to stay for dinner?” Obi-Wan asked, and she smiled.

“That would be wonderful, thank you. I’d love to hear how you’ve all been doing.”

* * *

Padme did not protest as she was led to the couch by Anakin, Master Qui-Gon sitting in one armchair, settling that hideous green pillow against the small of his back; Obi-Wan went to change out of his  _ beskar’gam _ , and when he reappeared, looking like the Jedi she knew him to be in simple, tan tunics, he headed straight for the kitchen.

“Do you need any help?” Padme offered, although she knew that her skills in the kitchen were modest. Cooking had taken a backseat to politics, during the course of her education.

“No, thank you,” Obi-Wan returned, already looking through the cooling unit. “Is there anything specific you might prefer?”

“Something different,” Padme answered, and Obi-Wan looked up to glance at her, smiling, a gleam in his eyes.

“I think we can manage ‘different,’” he said lightly, and Master Qui-Gon groaned.

“Please, Obi-Wan, I beg of you: go easy on the spice,” he sighed. “I’ve only just started to feel my tongue again.”

Obi-Wan laughed, but made no promises. Padme grinned and Anakin snickered as Master Qui-Gon shook his head, grinning to himself despite his words.

“How have you all been?” Padme asked again, though she was looking at Master Qui-Gon. His smile grew gentler.

“Far better than the last time you saw me,” he answered. “I was fully cleared for field missions again within a year.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Padme said honestly, pure  _ relief _ filling her. Master Qui-Gon had not always made decisions that she had agreed with, during their brief time together, but it had been clear to her that he was a fundamentally  _ good _ person. The knowledge that he had been so gravely injured while fighting for Naboo, for  _ her _ , had been galling.

“I did appreciate the queen’s gift,” Master Qui-Gon continued, his eyes glittering with amusement, gesturing to the vine. Padme smiled gently. “It was a pleasant bit of greenery while I was imprisoned in the Halls of Healing.” Anakin snorted, and Padme couldn’t contain her laughter at that. Master Qui-Gon looked pleased. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“The queen has business in the Senate tomorrow,” Padme said, her smile drooping somewhat. Master Qui-Gon began to frown, and Padme was quick to continue, “I thought I might take the opportunity to see a few old friends. But I swear I speak of nothing  _ but  _ politics, and I want to hear all about what your lives are like, here at the Temple.”

Master Qui-Gon’s frown gained an edge of  _ consideration _ that Padme did not like, but it was quickly smoothed into a hint of a smile.

“I’m sure Anakin has already told you he left the Temple?” Padme nodded, shooting Ani a smile; he beamed in response. “Other than that excitement, I suppose the biggest piece of news I have to offer is that the Council has asked me to sit on a Committee, tasked with recommending changes to the Order.”

“What sorts of changes?” Padme asked. Master Qui-Gon shrugged.

“Any sort. The Council was intentionally vague,” he answered. “We began our sessions a tenday ago. Thus far, we have agreed that we would like to foster closer relations between the Temples. An exchange program of sorts was proposed that I find quite exciting.”

Padme tilted her head curiously. “I know about the Jedi Temple on Corellia, of course, but how many others are there?”

“There are several active, recognized Jedi Temples,” Master Qui-Gon answered. “This Temple and the Corellian Temple, of course; the Chandrilan Temple, the Temple of Eedit on Devaron, and the Dantooine Temple are all recognized as part of the larger Jedi Order, although our Council only oversees this Temple in particular. There are several other Temples, either inactive or lacking permanent residents, such as the Temple on Ilum. Jedi go there to collect their lightsaber crystals, but the planet is essentially uninhabitable for the majority of the year, as its entire surface is covered in ice and snow.

“There are also several institutions dedicated to studying the Force, and the history of the Order. Have you heard of the Temple of the Kyber, on Jedha?” Padme shook her head. “It sounds lovely. I have never been, myself. We have two representatives from that Temple here; their perspectives are quite interesting. They are not Jedi themselves, though they know much of our lore and history. They are somewhat more scholarly than we are, and leave Jedha rarely. To have them here is a wonderful resource.”

Padme smiled, drawn in by his obvious enthusiasm. “It’s wonderful to hear about the inner workings of the Jedi Order. I’ve always felt that there’s so much outsiders don’t know about all of you.”

Master Qui-Gon nodded. “That is another problem we are seeking to remedy. The galaxy at large seems to see us as… something  _ other _ . Too often we are placed upon a pedestal, and misunderstood. The Force is a great ally, but we are mere sentients, and we put our boots on one foot at a time, just like anyone else.”

Padme laughed, and Anakin snorted beside her. “Except for Master Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “He’s some kind of Force entity.”

“I most certainly am  _ not _ . Force entities are… not a kind thing to be compared to.” Padme heard him grumble from the kitchen, and she giggled again as Anakin rolled his eyes. Master Qui-Gon’s smile was indulgent.

“Your work sounds quite interesting,” Padme said honestly, and Master Qui-Gon grinned at her and nodded. “What other sorts of changes have you proposed?”

Master Qui-Gon’s answer was stopped by the chime of the door; immediately, Anakin sprung up from the couch to answer it. “Hi, Master Yan!”

“Good evening, Padawan.” Padme turned to the new arrival; he was tall and imposing, wearing dark blue robes, sporting greying hair and a neat beard. She thought she recognized him as one of the Jedi who had visited Naboo, after the battle was finished; Padme thought hard, and remembered that yes, he had been on Naboo--Master Yan Dooku, her memory supplied after a moment. He paused as he caught sight of her, and then he bowed. “Your Highness.”

“Oh dear,” Padme sighed, “I’ve been caught out.” Anakin laughed, and Padme smiled at him before rising to curtsey to the man. “Padme Naberrie; for today, I am simply a handmaiden of Her Highness.”

“I see,” Master Dooku said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“He’s my Master’s Master’s Master,” Anakin said, and Padme blinked, trying to make sense of that. “My Great-Grand-Master.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Padme said honestly; Master Dooku blinked at her. “I hadn’t known what a Jedi family looked like, before today.” Master Dooku seemed somehow uncomfortable at that, but he nodded stiffly.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping me, Grand-Master?” Obi-Wan called, and some of the tension bled away from Master Dooku’s expression as he nodded at them.

“Please excuse me,” he said, heading for the kitchen. Master Qui-Gon watched him go with a curious gaze before turning his attention back to their guest.

“Do you have ‘family dinners’ often?” Padme asked, and Anakin nodded eagerly.

“Whenever we’re all in the Temple,” he said. “That wasn’t all  _ that _ often, until Master Obi-Wan took me as his Padawan. Now we’re all going to be in the Temple for  _ months _ .” Anakin seemed pleased by this, and Padme smiled at him.

“At least until you can go on missions,” Master Qui-Gon added gently, and Anakin’s smile only grew.

“How early do Jedi Padawans begin leaving the Temple with their Masters?” Padme asked.

“Padawans can be taken anywhere between eleven and thirteen,” Master Qui-Gon answered. “Depending on the Master’s specialty, and the Padawan’s ability, it might be a few months into their partnership, or several years. The mission assignments are presented to the Master to accept or decline; they do also have the option of accepting themselves, leaving their Padawan in the Temple.”

Padme’s eyes flicked to Anakin, who was now scowling. “Is that what happened on Obi-Wan’s recent mission to Mandalore?”

Master Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes. The Master is expected to know their Padawan best, and may accept or decline missions on their behalf based on their estimation of the apprentice’s abilities and experience.” He levelled a stern look at Anakin. “You know that he was right to leave you here with us.”

Anakin deflated, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I just… had a bad feeling about it, and I was  _ right _ . Master Obi-Wan was hurt, and I wasn’t there to help him.”

“You wouldn’t have had enough experience to help yet, Ani,” Master Qui-Gon said gently, and Padme recognized his tone of voice. It told her that they had discussed this at length already. Anakin nodded, scowling.

Feeling the need to change the subject and brighten the mood, Padme broke in. “On Naboo, we are considered old enough to declare our intended profession at the age of ten,” she said. “I chose politics, of course. Though some days, I’m not certain why.”

Anakin snorted, and Master Qui-Gon shook his head, a small smile on his face. Padme smiled as well, glad to have broken the tension before it could grow.

“You’ve done an excellent job as Queen,” Master Qui-Gon assured her, sounding so genuine that it brought a sheen of tears to her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out steady, though the words felt as though they scraped her throat to escape. “Sometimes, I am not so sure of that.”

Master Qui-Gon looked at her--really  _ looked _ at her--and Padme wondered how much the Force could really tell him about what she thought and felt. She put that from her mind as Obi-Wan called out that it was time for dinner.

* * *

The meal was delicious, and had a  _ kick _ to it that she hadn’t expected. Her lips and tongue tingled in a delightful way as she worked through the bowl of noodles with spiced meat and vegetables. Master Dooku was quiet, seated between Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon; Anakin was between Obi-Wan and Padme, who sat on Master Qui-Gon’s other side.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Obi-Wan said, giving her a gentle smile. “I’m glad to be able to repay a bit of your hospitality.”

Padme was about to protest that her hospitality had been the least she could have given them after what they had done for  _ her _ , but Master Qui-Gon was already speaking. “What business does Naboo have with the Senate tomorrow? I must say, I hope you’re planning to give them as swift and stern reprimand as you did last time. Even with Chancellor Antilles at the helm, they are still an inefficient and…”

“Corrupt body,” Master Dooku supplied flatly.

“Regrettably, yes,” Master Qui-Gon agreed.

Padme sighed, looking down at her food before shaking her head slightly. “That is part of the reason I wished to see you.” She took a deep breath and looked up again. “I am truly grateful for your help in our time of need--all of my people are. I wanted you to know that our decision is in no way a reflection on the Order.”

“Padme?” Anakin prompted gently, looking at her with wide, worried eyes.

“There was a vote called last week, and my people have spoken,” Padme said grimly. “They feel… insignificant, and overlooked. The Senate did nothing to help us during the invasion. They did nothing to help us after, either--that was all the Order’s work. And the Trade Federation… Only Nute Gunray saw a prison sentence, and he was released early, after serving only nine months. He then  _ returned to his post _ . The Federation itself received a fine--and it was a pittance, compared to their overall worth. My people took it as a clear message: we are not important to the Republic. Only money speaks to them now.

“The vote was an overwhelming majority. Tomorrow, I must go before the Senate, and announce that Naboo is leaving the Republic,” Padme said.

“ _ Fuck _ .” Padme blinked in surprise--she had never heard Obi-Wan swear before. Judging from the startled look on Anakin’s face, he hadn’t, either. “My apologies. I… Thank you for coming to tell us, Padme.” He stood abruptly. “I think I need some air. Please, stay a while longer, if you can; I’ll be back in a moment.”

With that, he headed for the balcony. Master Qui-Gon started to rise, but Master Dooku put a hand on his arm, shaking his head. He looked grim. Master Qui-Gon slowly nodded, and Master Dooku went after him.

“There are no mouse droids on the balcony this time, are there?” Master Qui-Gon asked, fixing Anakin with a raised eyebrow. The boy squirmed and shook his head.

“No.”

“Mouse droids?” Padme asked.

“I’ve, ah, been working on upgrading them to act as extra security for the Temple,” Anakin explained, his face starting to flush. “They record stuff, now. One of them caught a…  _ private _ conversation.”

“I see,” Padme said, trying not to smile. It was difficult, and finally she laughed. “You’re a clever boy, Ani.”

He relaxed somewhat. “Thanks.”

“I am truly sorry to hear this,” Master Qui-Gon said softly, his expression earnest. “But you and your people must do what you feel is best for yourselves, of course.”

Padme nodded, and then sighed. “I was against it. I never spoke publicly, one way or another; I did not wish to influence the vote. I wanted this decision to be made by my people. But I fear that they are making the wrong choice. I still have hope that the Republic can return to what it once was.”

“Perhaps this will serve as call to action,” Master Qui-Gon said gently. “I certainly hope so, anyway.”

Obi-Wan and Master Dooku reentered from the balcony; Obi-Wan’s eyes were like flinty durasteel, and Master Dooku’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

“I apologize,” Obi-Wan murmured. “The news caught me off-guard.”

“It’s quite alright,” Padme assured him, smiling gently. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Nor did I,” Obi-Wan agreed softly. He looked… haunted, and the expression sent a shiver down Padme’s spine. He took a deep breath and drew himself up, standing a bit taller, looking determined and just as imposing as he had when wearing his armor. “Although the Order are sworn to protect the Republic, we do not serve to cater to the whims of the Senate, and we do not act on their direction alone. Should you ever need us, we will do our best to help you. I hope that you will remember that.”

“I could never forget it,” Padme said honestly. “Not after what you have already done for us.”

Obi-Wan made a valiant attempt a smile, although the expression seemed somewhat wooden. “That is something, at least. I’m so sorry that it had to come to this.”

Padme sighed. “So am I. I am so very sorry.” She shook her head and rose. “I hate to leave on such a sour note, but I’m afraid I must go. I still have to prepare the rest of my speech for tomorrow’s session.”

“Of course,” Master Qui-Gon murmured.

“Why don’t you let Anakin guide you?” Obi-Wan suggested, and Anakin’s eyes lit up. Padme smiled.

“A guide would be most welcome--the Temple is far larger than the Palace of Theed, and I fear I could get lost easily.”

“I’m happy to help!” Anakin assured her eagerly, and she smiled, a bit of the cloying sadness of the past few moments stripped away in the face of his innocent enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Ani.”

They walked mostly in silence, Anakin seeming to sense that she needed a quiet moment. Captain Panaka trailed just behind them, ever vigilant, even here, even now. When they reached the main entrance, Padme put one hand on Anakin’s shoulder, Captain Panaka giving them a moment alone as he went to retrieve their speeder.

“I will always be your friend, Anakin,” Padme said softly. “And I hope that you will always remain the bright, kind person that you are.”

“And I’ll always care for you, Padme,” Anakin murmured, and then he smiled, a sad but sweet expression. “My heart goes with you.”

The echo of the words she had said to him, when he had not yet known that she was the queen, brought another sheen of tears to Padme’s eyes. This time, she could not quite manage to keep them from falling. She shook her head and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“ _ Ret'urcye mhi _ ,” he said, large, bright eyes looking up at her seriously as she drew back. “It’s Mando’a. It’s how they say goodbye, but it means ‘maybe we’ll meet again.’”

Padme gave him a watery smile in return and squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. “I hope so, Ani.” Haltingly, she added: “ _ Ret’urcye mhi _ .”

It was worth struggling through the unfamiliar words to see the sweet little smile that blossomed on Anakin’s face. Padme smiled back, still teary, and committed his face to memory.

She turned to leave, and did not look back again.


	12. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I interrupt your regularly scheduled updates to bring you this chapter a few days early. I just hit 1,000 subscriptions on this story, and I wanted to celebrate! :D I'll still be posting again on Monday, as usual, don't worry about that!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for your comments and kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions. They make me so giddy and have been such a lovely confidence-booster!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> adiik: child (young child, between age 3-13)  
> aliit: family, Clan  
> Vor'e: Thanks  
> Jate ca: Goodnight

Anakin, honestly, didn’t understand why it was such a big deal for Naboo to leave the Republic. Tatooine wasn’t part of the Republic, and it never had been--it still wasn’t, even after the uprising. They were doing just fine, once everyone was freed, without the Republic. And the way that Master Obi-Wan, Master Yan, and even Master Qui-Gon talked about the Senate made it seem so… useless.

Anakin had done a  _ lot _ of studying since coming to the Temple, and they only really ever talked about what the Senate  _ had done  _ like a  _ thousand years ago _ , not what it was  _ doing _ . He figured that was because they  _ weren’t _ doing anything, and that suspicion seemed confirmed by the Masters around him, and tonight, by Padme and her description of what the Senate  _ hadn’t _ done about the invasion. So… how important was the Republic, really? Why was it a big deal for a planet to leave it? Anakin just… couldn’t make himself think it was.

But Master Obi-Wan did. Master Obi-Wan  _ never _ swore--at least not in front of Anakin--and his first reaction had been to say  _ fuck _ . Sometimes, Anakin had to wonder if Master Obi-Wan really even  _ liked _ the Republic, and yet he’d gotten so upset that he’d had to  _ leave the room _ , which Obi-Wan never did either. He said it was rude, to leave before someone else was finished speaking, and to only leave if you truly couldn’t continue without needing a moment to regain your composure.

And Master Obi-Wan had  _ definitely _ lost his composure, the minute  _ fuck _ had tumbled from his lips.

Anakin decided to just ask him what was so bad. Not  _ tonight _ , not when it was still so fresh for Master Obi-Wan, but tomorrow, maybe. He’d give him a little bit to think it over, and then ask Master Obi-Wan to explain it to him. He felt better with his course decided, and walked back to their quarters with a little smile on his face, happier thoughts overtaking him.

Padme had  _ kissed him _ .

Sure, it was only on the cheek, but  _ still _ . Padme Amidala, the  _ queen of Naboo _ , one of the strongest, bravest, and smartest people he’d ever met, and absolutely the  _ most beautiful _ woman he’d ever seen, had  _ kissed him _ . He could swear he still felt his cheek tingling, that if he thought about it enough, he could still feel the warmth of her lips--

Anakin groaned as he realized that, distracted as he was, his feet had taken him to Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon’s old quarters out of mindless habit. Sighing, he turned around to head back to the lifts. Finally, he reached the right hallway, and paused as he saw Master Mace heading for their door.

“Master Mace?” Anakin called, hurrying to catch up to him. The Master stopped, turning to look at him. “Hi. Um, it’s kind of late. Is everything okay?”

Master Mace raised an eyebrow at him. “Obi-Wan asked me to come immediately.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, frowning again. He realized that the Naboo leaving the Republic thing must be even more important than he’d thought. “He did seem pretty upset.”

“About what?” Master Mace asked, and Anakin shrugged.

“I’m not really sure,” he answered slowly. “I mean, I was  _ there _ , but I don’t really get why it’s such a big deal.”

“What happened?” Master Mace demanded, a concerned frown overtaking his face.

“Padme--Queen Amidala, I mean--came to visit. She said she was on Coruscant because of business with the Senate, and when Master Qui-Gon asked her what it was about, she said her people voted to leave the Republic,” Anakin said.

Mace’s expression went  _ blank _ as he sucked in a breath, like he’d been hit in the gut. Wordlessly, he turned and punched in the override code with a bit more force than necessary. Anakin frowned--he could’ve just put his hand on the scanner. He  _ did _ live here, after all.

Master Obi-Wan was standing in the kitchen, the brandy out and uncapped, a drink in his hand--which, Anakin noticed, his frown deepening, was shaking. Beside him, Master Yan was in a similar position, although he, at least, wasn’t trembling. Master Qui-Gon was sitting in his armchair, though his attention was focused on Master Yan and Master Obi-Wan, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” Master Mace said.

An awkward silence fell, and Master Obi-Wan downed his drink in one go. Turning around, he pulled another glass from the cabinet, setting it down with a quiet  _ clink _ on the counter that seemed so loud in the tense silence. Stiffly, still shaking, Master Obi-Wan poured another drink in his glass, and then in the other, sliding it pointedly across the counter. Master Mace grimaced, but moved forward, taking the offered drink and knocking it back immediately. Obi-Wan poured for him again, and this time, they began sipping at their drinks.

Slowly, Anakin went to sit himself down on the plush rug near Master Qui-Gon’s feet, leaning against his legs. One of Master Qui-Gon’s large hands came down to cover his shoulder, and Anakin pressed into the contact.

“I shouldn’t have asked Tholme to publish those files,” Master Mace said, so quietly Anakin almost couldn’t hear him. “If I hadn’t cast doubt on him, before the vote of no confidence…”

Master Obi-Wan shook his head. “What’s done is done, Mace. You couldn’t have known.” Master Mace didn’t seem appeased, and took another large swig of his drink. “And if you  _ hadn’t _ done everything you could to ensure that he  _ wasn’t _ elected, I don’t think I could have forgiven you.”

“We should have realized he had a back-up plan,” Master Mace growled. “We shouldn’t have assumed--”

“I never assumed that he didn’t,” Master Obi-Wan cut in, voice so flat and toneless that it made Anakin frown, the hairs on his arms standing up. Master Obi-Wan had  _ never _ scared him, but in that moment, he seemed so… dangerous. “This plot has been  _ one thousand years  _ in the making. They would never be so careless. They’ve created a web so carefully strung that they are prepared to face  _ any _ eventuality.”

“But we aren’t.” Master Mace sounded so… defeated.

That was when Anakin realized that something was truly, terribly  _ wrong _ .

“The war is going to be far worse, this time,” Master Obi-Wan said grimly. Master Yan took a large drink and grimaced. Anakin knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Naboo is a  _ symbol _ . If they’re the ones kicking off the Separatist movement, systems will be drawn in quickly. And they have a  _ point _ . The Republic isn’t what it once was, even with Chancellor Antilles fighting for it. But they’ll have  _ no idea _ who they’re led by. They’ll follow so blindly, and so  _ passionately _ . This won’t be the puppet war we had before. This time, they’re going to  _ mean it _ . And it’s going to be so much worse.”

Master Qui-Gon’s hand tightened slightly on Anakin’s shoulder.

“I know,” Master Mace said.

“Unless we expose him.” They all looked at Master Yan, who was still grimacing faintly as he spoke. He paused to take another sip of his drink. “If this is to be a war of ideals, let them see what they are truly fighting for.”

“A sensible proposition, but  _ how _ ? He managed to remain hidden through the entire war  _ and _ his stint in office,” Master Mace said flatly.

Master Yan drained the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass down on the counter. “I will do it. I know how to get close enough already.”

Anakin felt Master Qui-Gon stand up, his hand leaving his shoulder, as he said: “ _ No _ .”

All three of the other Masters looked at Master Qui-Gon, all of them looking at him like they’d been startled awake straight out of a dream. Master Obi-Wan then looked to Anakin, his face paling, before turning his attention back to Master Qui-Gon.

“No?” Master Obi-Wan repeated, still so flat, his eyes stormy grey.

“I’m not an imbecile,” Master Qui-Gon snapped. “I realize you’re talking about luring a  _ Sith Lord _ into a trap, but the risk is far too great.  _ Especially _ for you, Master.”

Anakin frowned, looking up at Master Qui-Gon. “You watched it, didn’t you?”

“Watched what?” Master Mace asked, and Anakin stood up, his hands clenching into fists, his brow furrowing as he glared at Master Qui-Gon.

“And you  _ didn’t give it to Master Mace _ ,” Anakin said, and Master Qui-Gon frowned at him.

“I did not promise that I would  _ not  _ watch it, and I did  _ intend _ to give it to Mace,” he said coolly.

“Watch  _ what _ ?” Master Mace growled, low and threatening. Master Qui-Gon turned back to them, and then stormed off towards his bedroom. Returning only a moment later with the hard drive that Anakin  _ definitely recognized _ , he slammed it down on the counter.

“One of Anakin’s mouse droids recorded your conversation on the balcony, the night everyone was here,” Master Qui-Gon said flatly.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Master Obi-Wan said, for the second time that night, and he roughly ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. Master Yan went pale and perfectly still. Anakin bit his lip.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t watch all of it, I swear I didn’t. I gave it to Master Qui-Gon because it seemed like it was important, but I… I didn’t want to tell you ‘cause I didn’t want you to be mad. I thought he’d know what to do with it, and he said he’d give it to Master Mace. I didn’t  _ think _ he was gonna watch it, I promise I didn’t. I even  _ asked him _ !”

There was a tense moment of silence, and Anakin felt the hot  _ anger _ he’d felt at Master Qui-Gon turning into chilly  _ fear _ , until Master Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head.

“I’m not angry, Anakin,” he said. “I’m… disappointed that you felt you couldn’t come to me. It wasn’t your fault, and it didn’t have to turn into this… situation.” Master Obi-Wan turned to Master Qui-Gon, then, his expression flat. “Now  _ you _ , I am rather cross with.”

Master Qui-Gon bristled. “I would not have felt the  _ need _ to watch it if the three of you hadn’t been keeping secrets for  _ years _ .”

“Qui-Gon, I told you that you  _ shouldn’t know _ ,” Master Mace said. “I told you  _ explicitly _ that we  _ would _ tell you, if you would just have  _ patience _ , instead of disobeying orders  _ per usual _ .”

“And I told  _ you _ that something this important should not be kept so  _ secret _ ,” Master Qui-Gon snapped. He turned on Master Yan, then, expression thunderous. “And  _ you _ , Master. How could you even  _ think _ about walking straight into the Sith’s clutches? After what happened  _ then _ ?”

Master Yan bristled. “It is our best chance at--”

At the same time, Master Mace started to say, “It won’t happen. We’ll find another way--”

“ _ Stop _ .” All of them fell silent at Master Obi-Wan’s command. He looked pale, and tired--no longer cold and dangerous. Anakin slumped slightly, his hands finally relaxing at his sides. “This is what he  _ does _ . He sows discord and chaos among us, and we  _ cannot let that happen.  _ So Qui-Gon knows some of it, now. What point is there in keeping the rest from him? I think he should be told.”

“Thank you,” Master Qui-Gon said.

“ _ After _ the Committee’s business is completed,” Master Obi-Wan added flatly. “We can’t risk you making recommendations and decisions based on fear, unless you want to give up your spot and nominate someone else.”

Master Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Fine. I will wait.” Master Obi-Wan nodded back, and then looked to Master Mace and Master Yan.

“Fine,” Master Mace finally said, and Master Yan nodded slowly, still far too pale.

“Good. Now, as to your… proposition,” Master Obi-Wan said, looking at Master Yan. He softened, his eyes going wide, sparkling with blatant compassion that Anakin could see even from halfway across the room--and Anakin  _ knew _ how it felt when Master Obi-Wan looked at him that way, like he was the center of the universe, and he smiled. Master Yan seemed… sad, sometimes. If anyone deserved Master Obi-Wan’s gentle care, it was him. “It  _ is _ concerning. That would be the same path that you started down last time. But…” He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Master Yan’s arm. “If we  _ must _ , then… I trust you. I would let you go. But we  _ will _ try to find another way, first.”

Master Yan nodded sharply, but said nothing. Master Obi-Wan turned on Master Mace.

“As for you,” Master Obi-Wan said softly, raising an eyebrow, his smile turning sad. “Go meditate. You need to work through that guilt.”

Master Mace barked a laugh; the sound of it made Anakin wince, rough and bitter as it was. “You’re one to talk.”

“My hypocrisy makes it no less true,” Master Obi-Wan said primly.

“I think I need a few good rounds in the ‘salle,” Master Mace muttered. “And  _ then _ meditation.”

Master Obi-Wan smiled softly and nodded. “Tomorrow. Right now, I need to see to my Padawan.”

Anakin felt a spark of  _ warmth _ in his belly at that. He still didn’t  _ quite _ understand what was going on, although he wasn’t, as Master Qui-Gon had said, an imbecile, so he could take a good guess. He knew that whatever was happening was serious, and definitely related to those visions. The fact that Master Obi-Wan was more concerned about  _ him _ at that moment… Anakin smiled despite himself.

“I understand,” Master Mace said. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

“We’ll tell the others after,” Master Obi-Wan said. Master Mace nodded. Without looking at either Master Qui-Gon or Anakin, Master Yan chose that moment to leave. As he headed for the door, Anakin shoved  _ affection _ at him through the Force; Master Yan paused to look at him, giving him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and then disappeared out the door.

Master Mace turned to watch him go, and then sighed, shaking his head. “The shit you get into, Qui-Gon.” With that, he stalked off as well.

Master Obi-Wan turned to Master Qui-Gon. They stood there for a long moment, silent, staring at each other, Master Qui-Gon’s chin lifted defiantly, and Master Obi-Wan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Finally, Master Qui-Gon’s shoulders slumped.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Master Obi-Wan said flatly. “Tomorrow.”

“Obi-Wan, I--”

“Tomorrow,” Master Obi-Wan cut him off. Master Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment longer, and then nodded, looking resigned. He turned on his heel and stalked back to his bedroom. Master Obi-Wan watched him go, and then shook his head, turning to Anakin. “Now, Padawan, we need to talk.” Anakin flushed and lowered his head, biting his lip. “Come on.”

Master Obi-Wan led him down the hall to their bedrooms, and Anakin stopped him before he could take them into Anakin’s room, instead taking his hand and leading them into Master Obi-Wan’s room. He had a feeling Master Obi-Wan didn’t need to see the Senate building right now, perfectly lit and very visible on the horizon through Anakin’s window.

Master Obi-Wan sat down on his cot and motioned for Anakin to follow; they sat facing each other, legs crossed, knees touching, and Anakin took a deep breath, waiting for Master Obi-Wan to speak first. Master Obi-Wan hadn’t ever really needed to  _ punish _ Anakin before, and he felt a little flutter of nerves. Sure, he’d been assigned extra meditations on the nature of  _ patience _ , for running through the Temple, and he’d been given extra katas to do or lines to write when he misbehaved in class, but… He’d never been punished before for something that seemed like it was this  _ serious _ .

“Anakin, please look at me.” Anakin didn’t lift his head, but he did look up at Master Obi-Wan, raising his eyes. “I promise, I am not angry with you. The mouse droid recording that conversation  _ was _ an accident, wasn’t it?” Anakin nodded quickly. “And you watched how much of it, before you stopped?”

“Um… I saw you ask Master Yan if he was a Jedi or not, and that’s where I stopped,” Anakin admitted. “I thought… whatever you were talking about seemed really  _ personal _ , and I didn’t want you to find out and be mad if I watched the whole thing.”

Master Obi-Wan sighed. “Padawan… I’m proud of you for your restraint. You’re a curious boy, and I’m very glad that you did  _ not _ watch it. I wish that you would have made that decision out of respect for our  _ privacy _ , and the knowledge that very wise and experienced Masters have decided that this should  _ not _ be revealed yet, but… whatever your motivations, you made good choices up to that point. Truthfully, even giving the recording to Qui-Gon was a good choice.”

“Really?” Anakin asked, raising his head briefly before ducking it again, frowning. “I didn’t figure out that he was going to watch it, but that was my fault! He didn’t  _ actually _ promise that he wouldn’t, and I wasn’t smart enough to catch it.”

Master Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. “Ani, you’re incredibly smart. But no one expects you to be able to outwit Qui-Gon. He’s a Master, much older than you are, with far more experience and an uncanny ability to say just as much or as little as he needs to make others draw the conclusions he wants them to. He was being manipulative, and that wasn’t fair to you.

“All that you did was try to improve the mouse droids as added security--which is a wonderful goal, and well-meaning. When you realized that they recorded something they should  _ not _ have, you found a trusted adult to handle the situation,” Master Obi-Wan said gently. Anakin finally met his eyes.

“You’re really not mad?”

Master Obi-Wan smiled, and it was kind and genuine, even though he looked so  _ tired _ . “No, Ani. I’m not mad.”

“Oh.”

“I  _ am _ concerned that you didn’t tell me,” Master Obi-Wan continued. Anakin squirmed, stilling himself when Master Obi-Wan put a hand on one of his knees. “I would hope that you trust me.”

“I do!” Anakin protested earnestly. “I just… it was  _ your _ conversation it recorded, and I thought you might be… I thought you’d be mad.”

“Ani, please think about this a moment and give me an honest answer,” Master Obi-Wan said gently. “Did you avoid telling me because you were scared of making me upset, or because you were scared that you might be punished, and you worry about what that punishment might be?”

Anakin frowned. “Both, I think.”

Master Obi-Wan sighed. “I understand.” Anakin’s frown deepened, and he studied Master Obi-Wan for a moment: the slight hunch to his shoulders, the sad smile on his face, the  _ kindness _ in his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

“You  _ do  _ understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Master Obi-Wan murmured, moving his hand from Anakin’s knee to take one of his hands, squeezing gently. “Before you came to the Temple, you were a slave.” Anakin stiffened, instinctively wanting to protest that he was a  _ person _ , but Master Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again gently and shook his head. “It does not define  _ who you are _ , or even who you  _ were _ before coming here, but it  _ is  _ something that happened to you. And we must acknowledge it.

“I think that in this scenario, your fear of angering another person, and your fear of punishment, were both stronger because your experiences with making others angry and being punished for it were… unkind,” Master Obi-Wan continued, and Anakin frowned. “Think about this for me, please: what sorts of punishments have you been given since you’ve been here at the Temple?”

Anakin flushed. He’d had the same thought just a few minutes before, but… he just couldn’t seem to make it  _ click _ in his mind, that these were  _ nice _ people,  _ good _ people who weren’t going to--

“Um… Extra katas and meditations. I had to write lines a couple times, which was so  _ boring _ . If I get caught bringing food into the Archives, Master Nu makes me help her shelve things for an hour or two, to ‘learn respect for the knowledge kept there,’” Anakin answered slowly. Master Obi-Wan smiled.

“Those are typical punishments for smaller things, yes,” Master Obi-Wan said. “And this  _ is _ a larger issue than the problems we’ve had before. But given the punishments you’ve been given here in the Temple before, what do  _ you _ think I would have done if you’d come to me, and told me that you accidentally recorded one of my private conversations?”

“I… I don’t know,” Anakin admitted, a light sheen of tears coming to his eyes. It made him feel sick, his skin hot, and he was so  _ angry _ with himself for crying like an  _ adiik  _ about this, because Master Obi-Wan was still being so  _ nice _ , and--

“I wouldn’t have punished you, Ani,” he said gently. Anakin blinked in surprise. “It was an  _ accident _ . You weren’t trying to spy on anyone. You had heard me complain about how lax the Temple’s security is, and found a solution you could help with. You weren’t acting maliciously, you were trying to  _ help _ . I’m never going to punish you for that.”

“Oh.”

“It is the fact that you hid it from me that bothers me,” Master Obi-Wan said again. Anakin squirmed, and Master Obi-Wan squeezed the hand that he was still holding. “But I understand why you did. You still  _ fear _ punishments, and I understand that. You had nine years to grow accustomed to… harsh punishments. You’ve only had less than a third of that time here in the Temple. I don’t blame you for thinking the worst.”

“You don’t?” Anakin whispered, his voice cracking. Master Obi-Wan gently tugged him forward, and Anakin moved, allowing Master Obi-Wan to pull him in close to hug him.

“No, Ani, I don’t,” he said softly. “It’s  _ okay _ . I don’t blame you for not being able to let go of your past yet. It was terrible, and it  _ happened _ , and that kind of hurt does not go away overnight.”

“Oh,” Anakin said yet again, and wrapped his arms around his Master. They stayed like that, silent, holding each other, for a long moment, Anakin sniffling through the tears that never quite fell. Finally, feeling calmer, he drew back. Master Obi-Wan let him, but caught one of his hands again, holding it gently.

“I think that we need to focus on two things,” Master Obi-Wan said gently. “This incident has shown me that the two of us still have work to do, trusting each other. We also need to help you work through your past, and let go of your fears. Do you agree?” Anakin nodded. “Good. I realize that it’s going to be difficult to trust me completely when you  _ know _ that I am keeping secrets from you, and I am sorry for that. I plan to ask the Council and the others affected if I might…” Master Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I plan to ask them if I might tell you, in the most general and… appropriate terms, what happened in that vision.”

“Thank you,” Anakin breathed, and he  _ meant it _ . Not even Master Qui-Gon was really  _ trusted _ with this, as Anakin had just seen. Master Obi-Wan squeezed his hand and smiled.

“You’re welcome. Trust works both ways, of course,” Master Obi-Wan said simply. “Now… I have a suggestion for dealing with your past, if you’ll hear it.”

“Okay,” Anakin said slowly, frowning. Master Obi-Wan was, well, his  _ Master _ . He could just  _ order _ Anakin to do what he wanted, and Anakin would  _ have _ to listen to him. The fact that he was phrasing it as a  _ suggestion _ was… nice, but Anakin wondered if it was really just a nicely-worded  _ order _ .

“There is a very kind Master named B’Nari who works in the Halls of Healing,” Master Obi-Wan began. “He is a Soul Healer. Master Qui-Gon spoke to him often, after Naboo, while he was recovering, and I spoke to him after the visions first occurred. His job is to help Jedi who have encountered… difficult circumstances. He talks us through our feelings, because we can’t  _ release _ them fully until we come to terms with them, and sometimes we need objective help before we can do that. I think talking to him about Tatooine would be helpful to you.”

Anakin frowned thoughtfully, and he knew his face must look funny as his nose scrunched up, because Master Obi-Wan bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. “So… my punishment is having to talk to somebody?”

“No,” Master Obi-Wan said quickly, growing serious once more. “Speaking with the Soul Healers is  _ not _ a punishment. It will  _ never _ be used as a punishment. Sometimes, you may not be given a choice about whether you’d like to speak to them, but that is in situations where an evaluation needs to be done. The first time I spoke to Master B’Nari, that was the case; they were evaluating me, after the vision. They do that to make sure that we’re going to be okay, that we’re alright, here--” Master Obi-Wan’s free hand ruffled his hair, and Anakin squawked and ducked his head. “---and here.” He gently touched Anakin’s chest with two fingers, just over his heart. “It isn’t a punishment. The Order wants to make sure its members are doing well, and if they need more help, then you can continue speaking to the Soul Healers beyond that one evaluation. But it is  _ never _ a punishment.”

Anakin bit his lip, and then nodded slowly. “Okay. But, um, what  _ is _ my punishment?”

Master Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully. “What do  _ you _ think is a fair punishment? Please keep in mind, the only part of this I feel that you need consequences for is hiding it from me.”

Anakin looked down at the bed, frowning. Master Obi-Wan was right. It  _ had _ been an accident, he hadn’t  _ meant _ to do it, and he  _ had _ told someone he trusted, a Master who was  _ supposed _ to make the situation right. But not telling Master Obi-Wan…

“Um, I guess… Maybe… If I have to spend all my extra time for a while with just you, instead of my friends?” Anakin suggested, and Master Obi-Wan paused, going very still, and then he laughed brightly.

“You think I should ground you,” Master Obi-Wan said, amusement threading through his voice. Anakin blinked, and then smiled sheepishly.

“I guess, yeah. I just… If I spend more time with  _ just you _ , which isn’t really a punishment, I guess, but--I think it’ll help,” Anakin finished lamely. Master Obi-Wan’s smile was fond and gentle, and he reached out to squeeze both of Anakin’s shoulders.

“Alright, Padawan. I believe that’s fair. For the next two weeks, you will not be allowed to see your friends unless they come  _ here _ while I am also present,” Master Obi-Wan said, and then he sobered somewhat. “I will also be restricting your calls with your mother to two days for the next two week. I don’t want you to go without  _ any _ contact with her, but the point of this is to begin trusting  _ me _ , so you need to focus on  _ us _ . Does that sound fair to you?”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah.”

Master Obi-Wan smiled, and then nodded. “Good. We will also have joint meditation sessions twice per day: one session here in the morning, and a moving meditation in the evening.”

Anakin blinked at him. “Moving meditation?”

Master Obi-Wan’s smile became a bit exasperated. “I know how difficult it is for you to sit still. I’m not trying to torture you.” Anakin laughed and nodded.

“Okay.”

“One more thing, Ani,” Master Obi-Wan said, growing serious again. He reached out to gently take hold of Anakin’s chin, tilting his head up and forcing him to meet his eyes. The were so bright and kind that Anakin swallowed hard from the intensity of that gaze, but he did not try to pull away. “I will  _ never  _ hit you as a punishment. In fact, I will  _ never _ hit you outside of sparring practice. I will always try not to even raise my voice at you when I am upset. Those are  _ not _ acceptable punishments. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Anakin croaked, and then he squirmed. “I don’t--I mean, just… Watto never hit us. But I saw--there were a lot of masters who  _ did _ .”

Master Obi-Wan nodded gravely. “I understand. But I am a very different kind of Master.”

“And I  _ know _ that, I just…”

“You aren’t used to it enough to  _ believe it _ , yet,” Master Obi-Wan filled in for him, and Anakin nodded. “I understand. I don’t take it personally, that you need reassurance that I am  _ not _ going to treat you that way. You grew up under very different circumstances, and we must take that into account when we gauge your expectations. I  _ understand  _ that.”

Anakin let out a  _ whoosh _ of air, sheer  _ relief _ filling him. This time, he was the one to fling himself at Master Obi-Wan, wrapping his arms around his neck. Master Obi-Wan tugged around his middle, lifting him until he was in his lap. Anakin  _ knew _ he was too old for this, but--it was too nice to pull away.

“I don’t get what you were so scared of,” Anakin murmured, his face pressed into Obi-Wan’s neck near his ear. “You’re the  _ best _ Master ever.”

Master Obi-Wan just held him tighter for a moment. Anakin let him, before drawing back slightly, still keeping himself in Master Obi-Wan’s lap, but pulling back far enough that they could look at each other.

“We’re okay?” Anakin asked softly, and Master Obi-Wan smiled gently and nodded.

“Yes, Padawan. We’re okay.” Anakin beamed, and let himself just sit there for another moment before scooting back to his previous position on the cot. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Um… Well, yeah. Kind of a lot of stuff, actually.” But where to start? Should he start at the beginning, telling Master Obi-Wan how upset he was when we went on that mission to Mandalore by himself? He’d almost  _ died _ ! Master Obi-Wan had almost  _ died _ , and Anakin had had been stuck in the Temple, and he’d felt so  _ helpless _ , but then on Concord Dawn, he’d still been recovering, and Anakin hadn’t wanted to say anything  _ then _ , and then after they got back, it seemed… Anakin felt like he’d just be  _ whining _ about it if he told him, because he  _ hadn’t _ died, he was fine, and he was back already.

And  _ then _ ... so much had happened in such a short time. He  _ wanted _ an explanation for whatever had happened tonight, the war that the Masters had talked about, and the Sith, and why Naboo was so important, but Master Obi-Wan had already promised he’d try to get permission to tell him, and there was really only one other thing he hadn’t told him--

“Padme kissed me,” he confessed before he could stop himself. Master Obi-Wan went very still, and then a sly little smile crossed his face, his eyes glittering.

“Oh?”

Anakin flushed and nodded. “It was only on the cheek, but still!”

“Padme is a wonderful young woman,” Master Obi-Wan said, still grinning. Then he  _ winked,  _ and Anakin snorted and ducked his head, feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m glad that you told me.”

“I hope we can still see her, sometimes, even if Naboo isn’t in the Republic anymore,” Anakin sighed, and Master Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed a bit, his smile growing sad.

“I hope so, too,” he agreed. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about before we go to bed?”

Anakin shook his head. “No. I can wait ‘til tomorrow to talk about Naboo and everything.”

Master Obi-Wan seemed… relieved, and Anakin smiled, pleased with his choice to wait, even though his brain was racing with questions.

“Alright then. I’d say you could sleep in here, but I fear my cot is far too small for both of us, now that you’ve started shooting up like a weed,” Master Obi-Wan teased, ruffling his hair. Anakin shot him a light glare, and Master Obi-Wan laughed. “To bed, imp. Brush your teeth first.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed. He paused at the door, looking back with a smile. “Master Obi-Wan?”

“Hmm?”

“ _ Vor’e _ .”

Master Obi-Wan’s smile was sweet and a little… shy, almost. Anakin felt the last little bit of tension in his stomach fade away. “You’re welcome, Ani.  _ Jate ca _ .”

“ _ Jate ca _ , Master.”

* * *

Despite how late he’d gone to bed, Anakin woke early the next morning. He looked at the light light filtering through the windows, dawn just starting to break, and groaned. He didn’t  _ want _ to go to class today, but--

He grinned to himself as he remembered that he was between classes, still. His heart and smile dropped in tandem as he remembered that he still wasn’t sure how well he’d done in his Core Politics class, and he might be in danger of not being in the top 5%, but he’d have to wait for his results before he could find out--

Anakin forced himself to take a deep breath. He thought about last night, and the way Master Obi-Wan had looked at him, his eyes so soft and warm and… Maybe Master Obi-Wan really  _ did _ want him.

That didn’t mean he could slack off, though, Anakin thought with a sigh as he pushed himself up. The way that Master Obi-Wan looked at him sometimes, his eyes so warm and kind and that little smile on his face, the way Anakin could feel his  _ pride _ through the Force and their bond… Anakin wanted  _ that _ , all the time.

But he also thought that maybe, just maybe, Master Obi-Wan really  _ wanted him _ . Maybe he wouldn’t regret taking Anakin as a Padawan if he wasn’t in the top of all his classes. Maybe he wouldn’t regret taking Anakin as a Padawan if he made a few honest mistakes.

Reassured, and far happier than the night before, Anakin made his bed, showered, and dressed quickly, his hair still dripping as he headed for the kitchen. He stopped dead at the end of the hallway as he saw Master Qui-Gon sitting alone at the table, holding a cup of tea in both hands. He looked up at Anakin and smiled tightly.

“Where’s Master Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked.

“Sparring with Mace,” Master Qui-Gon explained, a little stiffly, looking a little lost. “I… He wished to give us a moment with each other. To speak about what happened last night.”

“Oh.” Anakin frowned. “Okay.”

“I made extra tea,” Master Qui-Gon said gently. It felt like a peace offering, like when Sian brought him an extra muffin she’d smuggled out of the dining hall when she realized she’d upset him, or when Asajj taught him a new swear word. “Why don’t you pour yourself some and come sit?”

Anakin nodded and slowly and went to the kitchen. He softened just a bit more when he realized that Master Qui-Gon had made the red tea from Tatooine--Anakin knew he didn’t really like it much, and realized he must’ve made it for him specifically. He finished pouring and went to sit across from Master Qui-Gon at the table.

They studied each other for a long moment. Master Qui-Gon looked… tired. There were dark smudges under both his eyes, and his hair was a little mussed, and the lines in his face seemed more pronounced, as tense as he was. Anakin sighed.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you the recording,” Anakin murmured.

“You  _ did _ do the right thing,” Master Qui-Gon assured him. “It was my own curiosity that got the better of me. I should not have implied that I would not watch it. If anything, I should have told you the truth, or directed you to give it to Obi-Wan.”

“I was just so relieved you weren’t gonna tell him,” Anakin said. “I thought… I had a bad feeling about giving it to you. I ignored it ‘cause… Because I  _ trusted you _ .”

Master Qui-Gon winced. “I know. And I am very sorry, Ani. But I am far more sorry that I… indirectly encouraged you to hide something from Obi-Wan than I am for watching it.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Master Obi-Wan and I talked about that last night. I think… I  _ know _ he and I are gonna be okay. But… I’m not sure how to trust you again.” He flushed and looked down at his lap. That was a difficult admission--Master Qui-Gon was his  _ hero _ . He was the first Jedi Anakin had ever met, and he was the man who’d believed in him to win the podrace, and it had been Master Qui-Gon who helped free him. He was the Jedi who’d turned everyone’s expectations on their heads and not just survived what should have been a fatal fight with a  _ Sith _ , he’d gone back into the field after it.  _ And  _ he’d trained Obi-Wan, who was  _ famous _ \--and not just in the Temple--for having  _ killed the first Sith _ in a thousand years.  _ While he was still a Padawan _ .

Anakin  _ knew _ that Master Qui-Gon was just a person--he hadn’t thought it was impossible for a Jedi to be killed after Naboo. How could he have thought that anymore? But he was finding that  _ knowing _ Master Qui-Gon was just another sentient who messed up and feeling the consequences of his mistakes were two very different things.

“I understand,” Master Qui-Gon sighed. “I had similar problems with Obi-Wan, during his apprenticeship. I was… My greatest strength as a Jedi is my ability to be in the moment, with nothing but my instincts and the Force as my guide. But that is also my greatest weakness. Far too often, I think only of the moment, and not on the ramifications of my decisions and actions. I made a mistake, and I am very sorry for it. I hope, in time, that you will be able to forgive me.”

Anakin shook his head and looked up at Master Qui-Gon, a lopsided smile on his face. “I already forgive you. It might take me a little bit to get  _ over it, _ but I forgive you. I get why you did it. Master Obi-Wan… what he Saw was really awful. We all know that. To figure out just a little bit more of it, to be able to help him… I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. Honestly, if I hadn’t been so scared he would be mad, I probably would’ve watched all of it too. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone, you were just trying to help.”

Master Qui-Gon smiled tightly. “I wish I had your confidence, Ani. I fear my motivations were far more selfish than that. I was… hurt, and offended, that my friends would keep something this important from me.  _ Helping _ was a secondary consideration.”

Anakin frowned. “I don’t think that’s really true, Master. Why would you think it’s so important for you to know if not to help? I know I get… frustrated when people I care about are hurting, and it’s definitely hurting them. I still think you just want to  _ help _ .”

Master Qui-Gon stilled, looking thoughtful, and then his smile relaxed, becoming more genuine, some of the lines on his face lessening in severity. “That’s a very good point. Thank you.” Anakin nodded, relaxing a little bit as well. He  _ knew _ , because Master Qui-Gon was so kind, and Master Obi-Wan had reassured him last night, that he wouldn’t hurt him, but… Questioning authority figures, being this  _ honest _ with them--it still wasn’t something he was really used to yet. It was… stressful. “Now, Obi-Wan told me to give you a choice: you can do your first meditation for today with him, once he is finished sparring with Mace, or you can do so with me.”

“I don’t think I can meditate yet,” Anakin sighed. “But… if you wanted to meditate with both of us, later, I’d be okay with that if Master Obi-Wan is.”

Master Qui-Gon nodded, looking pleased. “Very well. Would you like to find some breakfast?”

Anakin shook his head. “No, I’m not hungry right now. Can we go watch them spar?”

Master Qui-Gon nodded again. “Of course. Finish your tea, first.”

* * *

The salles were unusually busy when they got there, a crowd gathered around one of the rooms, Initiates and Padawans pressed up against the glass, peering into the room, and curious Knights and Masters behind them. Master Qui-Gon, tall as he was, had no trouble gently pushing his way through them, Anakin following close behind. He darted into the room after Master Qui-Gon, and stopped just inside the door.

If Anakin didn’t know better, if he didn’t know that Master Mace and Master Obi-Wan were friends, he’d say it looked like Master Mace was really  _ trying _ to kill him.

Master Mace’s brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed, the set of his mouth firm and grim. He was raining down strikes with what had to be Force-enhanced speed and power, so fast that his purple ‘saber was almost a blur. Anakin had seen him use Vapaad before--all of the Padawans had, at some point or another. Master Mace liked to help with their classes, and even he couldn’t resist twenty-odd sets of young eyes staring hopefully up at him as they pleaded for a demonstration of his unique ‘saber form.

But he’d never seen it quite like this. Anakin knew, from Master Mace’s explanations of Vapaad, that his form channeled anger. It was  _ righteous _ anger, of course, but it was still perilously close to the Dark Side if done even the slightest bit wrong. No Initiate or Junior Padawan was allowed to study it, and only a handful of Senior Padawans and Knights had ever been approved either. And while Master Mace’s previous demonstrations had been impressive, this was… awe-inspiring.

And then there was Master Obi-Wan, unflappable as ever, just taking every strike. He had fallen back into his usual Soresu, allowing Master Mace to press forward again and again, deflecting the blows with a simple but ever-present defense, his own blue ‘saber a compact wall, meeting Master Mace’s strikes blow for blow.

Anakin watched a bit closer. It  _ looked _ like Master Mace had the advantage, but when Anakin looked down at their feet, he saw Master Obi-Wan stepping back, and to the side, leading Master Mace around in circles. He was letting him wear himself out--it was the philosophy of Soresu, Anakin knew. There was a good reason it was also called the Perseverance Form. Master Obi-Wan could probably go on for  _ hours _ like this.

Master Obi-Wan was wearing his armor, sans  _ buy’ce _ , but Anakin didn’t think he really needed it. Master Mace had yet to touch him, from what he could see. Peering a little closer, Anakin thought he saw a missed opportunity, when Master Mace raised his ‘saber up for an overhead strike, but Master Obi-Wan didn’t take it. Instead he fell back slightly and twisted, darting just out of reach, and then brought his ‘saber up to parry the next horizontal slash.

He remembered what Master Mace had said last night about needing to spar before he could meditate, and he smiled. He’d always known Master Obi-Wan was the best, and this definitely proved it. Who else could just casually go up against the full power of Master Mace’s Vapaad? Who else could just  _ handle it _ until Master Mace had exhausted himself enough that he didn’t need to spar anymore, casually passing up opportunities to win so that he could draw his friend’s anger out?

Anakin lost track of time, after that, paying more attention to the spar than anything else. He knew Master Mace’s energy was starting to wane when his steps and spins became even faster, his hits harder--Vapaad, like all of the other aggressive forms, demanded its users push harder at the end of their physical energy, a last push to try to claim victory.

It wasn’t working. Master Obi-Wan’s brow was a bit sweaty, his hair starting to stick to his forehead, but his expression hadn’t changed from the cool serenity Anakin was so used to seeing. Master Obi-Wan, of course, also sensed Master Mace’s energy fading, and he crouched down low as Master Mace went for another side-swipe.

Master Obi-Wan took his left hand from his ‘saber, disengaging his own; he sprung back up, and with his free left hand, he grabbed onto Master Mace’s dominant ‘saber arm and turned around, putting his back against Master Mace as he forced his ‘saber arm to remain extended. Master Obi-Wan drove his right elbow back into Master Mace’s gut, and the other Master let out an audible grunt, but Master Obi-Wan wasn’t done. Slightly twisting the arm he was still holding, Master Mace’s hand fell open, dropping his ‘saber. Quick as a flash, Master Obi-Wan grabbed the still-lit purple ‘saber in a reverse grip and spun again, holding it to its owner’s neck.

“Solah,” Master Mace grunted. Master Obi-Wan grinned at him before deactivating the ‘saber and holding it out to him. “I forgot you like to fight dirty. Refresh my memory--which form was that move from again?”

Master Obi-Wan laughed brightly. “It was one of Cody’s favorite tricks,” he said, something fond and sad in his voice. He looked up, catching sight of Master Qui-Gon and Anakin on the bench. “Enjoy the show?”

“That was… really badass,” Anakin said seriously, and Master Mace barked a laugh. Master Obi-Wan frowned.

“Language, Ani,” he sighed, shaking his head. Anakin  _ almost _ wanted to protest that Master  _ Obi-Wan _ had sworn, but he didn’t want to get into  _ that _ argument with his Master when he was already grounded. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” Master Obi-Wan paused, looking first at Anakin, and then at Master Qui-Gon. “Have the two of you made up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“What about you two?” Anakin asked, turning to look at Master Qui-Gon, and then back at Master Obi-Wan, who shrugged.

“We’ll be fine. We’ve been through a lot worse than this before,” he said lightly, a wry smile on his face. Anakin didn’t miss the flash of  _ regret-sorrow-guilt  _ Master Qui-Gon hastily released into the Force at that. “Have you done your morning meditation yet?”

“No. But I invited Master Qui-Gon to join us, if that’s okay with you.”

Master Obi-Wan’s smile grew softer, and he nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Master Mace and raised an eyebrow. “And what about you? Are you ready to meditate now?” Master Mace nodded, though he was frowning slightly, and Anakin tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Do you want to meditate with us too?” Anakin asked. He’d always had trouble meditating, because Master Obi-Wan was right, and it was just so  _ hard _ to be still and quiet, but it had been easier in the creche when they did their communal meditations. Being able to feel the other calm and soft presences around him made it easier to settle himself down. It was like… a feedback loop. He reached to the Force and found  _ their _ soothing peace and calm and quiet and it made  _ him _ able to be peaceful and calm.

Master Mace blinked at him, and then looked to Master Obi-Wan, who shrugged and grinned at him. “Thank you, Padawan. I think I will.”

* * *

It took a while for them to leave the salles, after a quick shower for Master Mace and Master Obi-Wan. It seemed like everyone who’d been watching Master Mace and Master Obi-Wan spar wanted to stop them, to say how impressed they were, and Anakin wanted to roll his eyes at them all. Of  _ course _ it was impressive. It was Master Mace, the Master of Vapaad, and Master Obi-Wan, who was the Master of Soresu and just about everything else, for good measure. Instead, he quietly followed along just behind Master Obi-Wan, who politely paused each time someone in the crowd called out to him, and accepted their admiration with quiet humility.

That was one of the strangest things about Master Obi-Wan. It hadn’t taken Anakin long to realize that Master Yan had been right (as always)--Master Obi-Wan genuinely didn’t seem to realize that he was  _ amazing _ . He was basically the perfect Jedi. He never got mad, he never bragged or boasted, he was amazing with a ‘saber, he always knew  _ exactly _ what to say… 

If Anakin was half the Jedi Obi-Wan was, he’d be proud of that. Privately, he thought that Master Obi-Wan was even wiser than Master Yoda, because what Master Obi-Wan said always made  _ sense _ the first time, unlike Master Yoda’s cryptic and backwards speech. And that fight proved that he was even more powerful than Master Mace!

Anakin flushed as he felt a pulse of sheer  _ mortification _ through the bond, and quickly pictured the dunes of Tatooine to shield himself. Master Obi-Wan must’ve heard that thought.

Finally, they were out of the salles, and they made their way to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Finding a comfortable hill--one of Master Obi-Wan’s favorite places to meditate--they sank down into the grass. The hill here was open, without any trees nearby, only several low, spiky orange bushes, allowing them a view of a large portion of the gardens, and Anakin smiled, feeling the pleasant, steady thrum of the Living Force around him. Impulsively, he pulled off his boots and socks, shoving them off to the side and wiggling his bare toes in the grass. Master Mace raised an eyebrow at him as he folded his legs beneath him, and Anakin flushed. Master Qui-Gon hummed thoughtfully and then smiled, pulling off his own boots and socks and doing the same.

Once the four of them were settled, Anakin closed his eyes and reached for the Force. He was met by the blinding, nearly-overwhelming  _ roar _ of the light and sound of it and the feeling of it buzzing against his skin, and in his brain, and down his spine. He gritted his teeth and breathed through it; Master Obi-Wan said it wasn’t like this for everyone, just for him, because he was so strong in the Force. During this part, Anakin always wished, just a little bit, that he was normal instead.

But the intensity passed as he adjusted, and then Anakin felt  _ everything _ . There were the dim-but-steady lights of the plants around them, and beyond that, the bright, pulsing lights of all of the Jedi in the Temple, and the slightly duller lights of all of the other sentients on Coruscant. Master Obi-Wan said not everyone could do  _ that _ , either, but Anakin could sense every living being on the planet, if he tried to. It was… overwhelming, and comforting, and disturbing all at once.

Anakin took a deep, slow breath, and drew his focus back in, bit by bit, just until he had tightened his awareness to the other three Jedi around him. He noted with surprise that there was another light, now--blazing but steady, like a well-fuelled bonfire on a cold night--and he smiled as he recognized Master Yoda. He must’ve joined their group meditation. On a whim, Anakin flicked his presence out towards Master Yoda, who sent back a gentle pulse of fond amusement at the greeting.

He pulled away from Master Yoda and reached for Master Mace, gently prodding at his presence. Master Mace was… different from other Jedi, in the Force. His fire burned hotter, the light so bright but also edged with… something else, something a little bit Dark, and cool, though not quite  _ cold _ . But at his center, he was so  _ warm _ and  _ bright _ . Anakin had always loved the contrast. Distantly, he felt himself smile as Master Mace brushed back, just the barest bit, more of an acknowledgement than anything.

Anakin turned his attention to Master Qui-Gon. He felt like… a mountain, in the Force. Steady and tall, just like he was in his physical form, and glowing with the steady light of the Living Force. He could see-feel the little tendrils of  _ Darkness _ floating away from Master Qui-Gon into the Force as he let go of his negative emotions. He held each one for just a moment, as if turning over the idea of it in his mind, before letting it go. Anakin sent him a pulse of affection, a little message of forgiveness, and he received the mental equivalent of a hug in return.

He thought briefly about what a great idea this had been, and then Master Obi-Wan was opening their bond. Anakin latched on eagerly--it wasn’t often that Master Obi-Wan let down many of his shields. He’d apologized to Anakin about the lack of total openness, but explained that he needed to shield himself to prevent Anakin from learning any more about the vision.

Anakin wondered if the Council would agree, if he’d really be told  _ everything _ that had happened to his Master in that vision, and if that meant Master Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to shield so much anymore. The thought made him giddy, and he sent a little wave of happiness to his Master, who felt-sounded like he was chuckling warmly.

Master Obi-Wan felt almost like Master Mace, in the Force. He was fiery, and bright, but there was something else there. It was almost like… cold spots in a fire. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was physically biting his lip or not, and Master Obi-Wan sent a questioning pulse at his sudden nervousness. Before he could change his mind, Anakin gently pressed up against one of the cold spots, the largest one, right near the core of him, and Master Obi-Wan flinched back for a moment before tentatively meeting him there.

_ Guilt. Overwhelming  _ **_guilt_ ** . The feeling brought tears to Anakin’s eyes, and then all of a sudden, it was so  _ consuming _ that he couldn’t tell if it was his guilt or Obi-Wan’s--

_ I wasn’t enough. _

_ I failed so many people. _

_ I could have tried harder. I  _ **_should_ ** _ have tried harder. _

_ I can’t fail again. I couldn’t bear it. Not again. _

_ Will I be enough? _

_ I wasn’t enough-- _

Anakin hissed and quickly pictured the dunes, the twin suns on the horizon-- He started breathing again as he distanced himself from the feelings and thoughts. Slowly, gently, like he was approaching a spooked bantha, Anakin reached back out for Master Obi-Wan, who flinched away and didn’t reach back this time. Anakin wasn’t sure if he sighed, but he felt like doing so, and he looked at the cold spot again.

_ You did your best, _ he gently floated down the bond.  _ You  _ **_always_ ** _ do your best. So I’m sure you tried your best, and I don’t know how you could ever not be enough. You’re  _ **_you_ ** _ , and you’re  _ **_my_ ** _ Master. _

There was nothing, at first, from Master Obi-Wan. Just tense silence and distance, and Anakin had just started to withdraw when he felt  _ warmth _ . Master Obi-Wan was surrounding him in the Force, and it felt… it felt like when he was able to sleep next to Obi-Wan, or when his  _ buir _ had told him that she was proud of him, and she’d always love him--

Anakin’s eyes almost flew open as it hit him. This was  _ love _ . Master Obi-Wan  _ loved him _ .

Suddenly, he felt stupid for not trusting him. This was Master _ Obi-Wan _ . This was  _ his _ Master, and Obi-Wan  _ loved him _ , and-- He was  _ family _ . He was  _ aliit _ .

Gently, distantly, he felt Master Obi-Wan press up against one of his own cold spots, and he hissed.

_ Anger _ . Not-quite- _ hate _ , and  _ helplessness _ , and--

_ One at a time, Padawan _ , Master Obi-Wan’s voice came.  _ Don’t overwhelm yourself; just choose one for now. _

_ Helpless. He was  _ **_helpless_ ** _. _

_ He was three and a slave and they were being sold and Amu was worried, and there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even sure he understood-- _

_ He was five and Watto was threatening to sell him, separate him from Amu, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it if he wanted to do it-- _

_ He was six and Watto was entering him in a podrace, and he was excited, but Amu was so scared, and she felt so helpless to keep him safe, and he could  _ **_feel_ ** _ how helpless she felt, and it was enough to wipe the smile off his face-- _

_ He was seven and Watto didn’t have enough water for all of them. It had been a bad harvest for everyone, the last few weeks, and the Hutts weren’t reducing their shares at all, so there was so little left for all of the Amavikka. They shared where they could, but Anakin saw. He saw how Amu and the other adults didn’t want to drink enough, trying to give their shares to the children first. He tried to refuse, but Amu wouldn’t let him, and she forced his mouth open with tears in her eyes while Ma Jira poured water into his too-dry mouth, tasting of dust. The next day, Amu collapsed, and he just knew it was because she didn’t have enough water. He felt so guilty, but he’d been helpless but to sit there and take it, and now his Amu was on the ground and he was helpless, he couldn’t help her-- _

_ He was nine and he was going to be a Jedi. But he had to leave Amu behind, still in chains. She was still helpless, and he was helpless to help her, yet again. _

_ It happened,  _ Master Obi-Wan’s voice came. It was gentle and sad, but comforting and warm.  _ It happened, and I’m sorry it happened to you. But you are not helpless anymore. You are a Jedi Padawan, and Shmi is a free woman. All of Tatooine is free. They are no longer helpless, and neither are you. You have power over your own life. You make your own decisions. You decided to become my Padawan. You could decide to leave the Order, if you wanted. I am so grateful to have you, but I will never force you to stay if it isn’t what you want. You are not helpless, and no one owns you. You are your own master, now. _

Anakin distantly felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he clung to Master Obi-Wan’s warmth, accepting the comfort he was offering.

_ It happened _ , Anakin thought.

_ Yes, it did. _

_ But I’m not helpless anymore. I own  _ **_myself_ ** _. _

_ Yes, you do. As you always should have. _

He sighed as he let the feeling go, giving it to the Force. The cold spot was a little warmer; it wasn’t the same blazing light as the rest of the Force around Anakin was, but it was just a bit brighter.

It had happened. The scars were still there, the memories would never disappear, but it wouldn’t happen again. Anakin was not a helpless slave. He was a Jedi Padawan, but he wasn’t  _ owned _ by the Order, either. He was a  _ person _ . Anakin Skywalker owned himself.

Anakin slowly pulled back from the Force, suddenly exhausted. When he came back to himself, he flushed, embarrassed by the tear tracks on his face. He hastily wiped at his face with his sleeves, and looked up.

Master Mace and Master Qui-Gon looked calmer, more settled, than they had before. Master Yoda was smiling broadly, eyes sparkling. Anakin ventured a glance at Master Obi-Wan. He was smiling, too, but his eyes were red, like he’d also cried. Anakin gave him his own lopsided grin and sniffed quietly.

The moment was broken by an unfamiliar voice: “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He looked up. There were two strangers standing there, just behind Master Yoda, dressed in strange dark blue robes. The man who had spoken had bright, pupil-less eyes and short dark hair. His companion had long dark dreadlocks and an easy grin.

“Chirrut,” Master Obi-Wan said, climbing to his feet to bow to them. “And Baze--how nice to see you both.”

“Good to see you again, Obi-Wan,” the first man, Chirrut, said, sounding amused. Master Obi-Wan snorted. “I like the beard. Hides more of your ugly mug.”

Master Obi-Wan laughed outright at that. Anakin frowned. “That’s not very nice.”

Chirrut looked at him, but his eyes didn’t quite meet Anakin’s. “I’m just joking, kid. I’m blind. I have no idea how ugly your Master is.”

“Oh,” Anakin said dully. He frowned. “Then how’d you even know he has a beard?”

Chirrut laughed. “People talk.”

“About my beard?” Master Obi-Wan asked, reaching up to run his hand along his jaw.

“About how you don’t look like a kid yourself anymore.” Master Obi-Wan laughed and Master Mace snorted. Chirrut smirked and then turned to Master Qui-Gon. “We came to get you. You’re late.”

“My apologies,” Master Qui-Gon sighed, and stood up. “Thank you.” He nodded to the rest of their little group, and then made to follow Chirrut and Baze.

“Are they on the committee?” Master Obi-Wan asked, directing the question to Master Mace with a raised eyebrow. Master Mace nodded. “Good choices.”

“I thought so,” Master Mace agreed.

“A good meditation, that was,” Master Yoda said, looking at Anakin. He ducked his head, suddenly shy under the ancient Master’s scrutiny. Master Yoda laughed. “Breakfast, you missed, hmm? My stew, you have never had. Correct this, we must, now that of my lineage, you are. To my quarters, you will come.”

Anakin didn’t miss the way Master Obi-Wan paled at that, and Master Mace grimaced. “Oh, thank you, Master, but we’ve already--”

“Breakfast, you  _ missed _ . To my quarters, you will come. Stew, we will have.”

“...yes, Master.”

Master Yoda’s cackle was ominous, and Anakin shot Master Obi-Wan a look full of panic. Behind Master Yoda, Master Obi-Wan simply pursed his lips and shook his head, looking resigned. Anakin sighed.

_ Is it at least edible for humans?  _ Anakin asked through their bond.

_ That is debatable, Padawan mine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you have asked how the election after the vote of no confidence was changed. I re-watched Episode I before writing this, and just after the vote of no confidence, before they all head back to Naboo, Palpatine tells them that he was nominated. It isn't until after the Battle of Theed, when the Councilors and Palpatine arrive, that we find out he was elected Chancellor. So I figure the election happened sometime between when our trio went back to Naboo, and when the Council showed up. It was an easy decision to handwave the election timeline and decide that it happened after the battle itself, but obviously before they all left to join Obi-Wan and company on Naboo, giving our protagonists enough time to act against him. :)
> 
> Events are going to start to snowball, and there will plenty of angst. I do pepper my angst with fluff, though, so it won't be ALL bad, I promise!


	13. Cody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's technically Monday! A very early Monday where I am, but the new person I mentioned for my department at work starts today, so I probably won't have time to take as long of a lunch to post as I normally would, with training. Here's the chapter a few hours earlier than normal!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> vod'e: brothers  
> ori'vod: older brother  
> ba'vodu: aunt  
> buir: father  
> adiik: young child (aged 3-13)  
> Kaminiise: Kaminoans  
> vod'ika: little brother  
> Vod'e an: brothers all  
> vor'e: thanks  
> osik: shit  
> di'kut: idiot  
> Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it: Truth, Honor, Vision (said when sealing a pact)  
> beskar'gam: Mandalorian armor  
> Mand'alor: leader of Mandalore (ie King)  
> Dah'Beskad: Dark Saber  
> Jetii: Jedi  
> Mando'ad: child of Mandalore (ie Mandalorian)  
> Kyr'tsad: Death Watch  
> Elek: Yes  
> Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad: I know your name as my child (Mandalorian adoption vow)  
> Resol'nare: the Six Actions, the tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> ka'ra: stars (lit.)  
> ori'ad: elder son  
> burc'ya: friend  
> Ner gai: My name (is)  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Tion'gar gai?: What's your name?

CC-2224 was going to be a Commander--had been destined to become a Commander since before his decanting. He knew his place in the world, and he knew his job: watch out for his _vod’e_ . Only the Alphas were older than his batch, and even if ‘24 _hadn’t_ been a Commander, he was an _ori’vod_ . It would always be his job to look out for the others--being a Commander only made it _official_.

So ‘24 watched them all carefully. He knew when a _vod_ scored low on a test, he knew when his _vod’e_ were fighting amongst themselves, he knew when they _sneezed_. Nothing happened that ‘24 didn’t know about, and he thought he was prepared for anything.

Which is why it hit him like a punch in the gut when he realized that _ba’vodu_ had left, and she hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t even _known_ that she was leaving. _Buir_ , at least, had warned them all that he was leaving for a while, and didn’t know when he might be back. _Buir_ had explained why he was going--and that had been hard to take, too, in its own way. ‘24 was a soldier. He was literally _made_ to fight. And his _buir_ was going off to fight _without him_ ? Part of him--a whiny, overly-emotional part that ‘24 liked to pretend didn’t exist and would never admit to--wondered what he was even good for. The more logical part of him realized that even with the accelerated aging, he was still an _adiik_ . In terms of _actual_ years, he wasn’t even three yet; the _Kaminiise_ told them they were the equivalent of a twelve-year-old natborn. So ‘24 had understood, in the end, and grudgingly let his _buir_ go without him.

But _ba’vodu_ … She’d taken Bob’ika, their _littlest_ _vod’ika_ , and she hadn’t warned them, she hadn’t _explained_. Boba wasn’t part of the army, he wasn’t made to be a soldier like the rest of them, but he was still one of ‘24’s _vod’e_. That put ‘24 in charge of him, made ‘24 _responsible_ for him, and not realizing that he’d gone was… He’d failed. ‘24 had never outright _failed_ at anything before, not at something this _important_.

It _hurt_.

But he didn’t have time to sulk about it. Even though Boba was gone, there were still 9,437 other _vod’e_ for ‘24 to watch over, and new decantings every other week, now.

He was leaning against the wall in one of the practice rooms, watching CT-7567 carefully as he ran the obstacle course. ‘67 had been born blonde, much to his misfortune. _Vod’e_ who were born less-than-identical… ‘24 thought it was ridiculous, the decommissioning, though it wasn’t his place to argue with the _Kaminiise_ , and he couldn’t afford to, anyway. But the _vod’e_ who were born… _different_ were sent to a “special” unit. They didn’t get the same training anymore, and they didn’t even have their own Commander. Not even a _Captain_ . They were kept separated from the rest of them, and while _ba’vodu_ insisted that they weren’t being mistreated, ‘24 didn’t think it was a very good sign that none of the other _vod’e_ ever got to see them.

And ‘24 hadn’t wanted ‘67 to go there. He’d had a _feeling_ about this particular _vod’ika_ . Thankfully, the _Kaminiise_ had seemed to consider it a minor enough difference to keep him in regular training--so long as he did well. ‘67 had grown up knowing this, and feeling like he had something to prove--which he did. ‘24 had offered to help him, to take him under his wing. ‘67 had narrowed his eyes at the offer.

“Why help me? You know how the _Kaminiise_ feel about us defects. If this doesn’t work, and I get decommissioned, if anyone thinks we were close… It might be enough to get you demoted. Maybe even worse,” ‘67 had said with a grimace. “Why risk it?”

‘24 had drawn himself up to his full--though not terribly impressive--height and folded his arms over his chest. He raised one eyebrow the way he saw _ba’vodu_ do it, that _look_ that made _buir_ sigh and scowl but ultimately obey. ‘24 had looked at his _vod’ika_ , and said: “ _Vod’e an._ ”

“...oh. Okay then,” ‘67 had said dully, the fire going out of him and a small smile crossing his face. “And, uh, _vor’e_.”

That had been about a year ago, when they had only been about the equivalent of eight for natborns. Since then, ‘24 had watched over all of his _vod’e_ , but he’d kept a particularly close eye on ‘67.

Now, he watched as ‘67 swung over the last rope, tumbled into a roll, and finally darted over the finish line to the course. ‘24 scowled at the blinking monitor ranking his time. “‘67!” he barked. His _vod’ika_ snapped his head up, breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. ‘24 jerked his head towards the corner, and ‘67 nodded, following him to the relative privacy of an unoccupied corner.

“What was _that_?” ‘24 asked, and ‘67 frowned at him.

“I finished the course.”

“You _added_ a full ten seconds to your last time,” ‘24 sighed. “What’s going on with you?”

‘67 scowled and quickly looked at the ground. “Nothing.”

“ _Osik_.” ‘67 looked up again at that, blinking rapidly. ‘24 didn’t swear much, mainly so that the words held greater effect when he _did_ use them. “You haven’t been acting like yourself. You’ve been distracted, you haven’t been sleeping, the _Kaminiise_ have given you warnings about eating too little at mealtimes _twice_ now, and you _know_ you can’t have that sort of attention. I’m no _di’kut,_ _vod’ika_. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

‘67 scowled again and shook his head. “How’d you know I’m not sleeping? We’re not in the same barracks.” ‘24 snorted.

“You really think there’s anything you can hide from me?” he asked, and then he sighed. “Please, _vod’ika_. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I’m just worried,” ‘67 muttered. “About _buir_ . And Bob’ika, and _ba’vodu_.”

‘24 sighed again. Glancing around, he saw only one _Kaminii_ in the room, and Seema Tao wasn’t even looking at them, focused on the _vod_ going through the course. Quickly, he wrapped one arm around ‘67’s shoulders and _squeezed_ before letting go and backing away again.

“Me too,” he admitted.

“It just… it makes me crazy that there’s nothing we can _do_ about it,” ‘67 said, his hands clenching into fists. “There’s nothing we can do to _help_.”

‘24 paused. He’d thought the same, but… that was before he’d known that this was hurting his _vod’ika_ , not just him. If it only affected _him_ , ‘24 could ignore it. He could push it down. But if it was hurting one of his _vod’e_... 

“Sanma Vo,” ‘24 said, and ‘67 frowned at him.

“What about her?”

“We could ask her what happened. She spends the most time with them out of any of the _Kaminiise_ . I’m sure she’d know why they had to leave,” ‘24 said, although the sinking feeling he’d had since he’d realized _ba’vodu_ had gone came back with a vengeance. He _knew_ that there was only one real reason she would leave so abruptly, and taking Bob’ika with her… _Buir_ was hurt. Probably badly. Possibly dead. ‘24 shook his head to clear it; he couldn’t afford to fall apart, not now, in front of everyone. _Especially_ not in front of ‘67, not if he was already worried. “That’s something we can do.”

“But how? She stays on level seven, and we aren’t allowed up there without _buir_ or _ba’vodu_ ,” ‘67 pointed out. ‘24 frowned thoughtfully.

“I’ll figure something out,” he promised. ‘67 looked skeptical, and ‘24 raised an eyebrow again. “Don’t you trust me?”

‘67 sighed and smiled. “You know I do, _vod_. Okay. We’ll talk to Sanma Vo.”

‘24 smiled at him and leaned forward again, just enough to tap their pauldrons together. “Good. Now that that’s settled, you ready to go again? Can’t let that time stand.”

‘67 nodded, his smile growing a bit wider. Taking a deep breath, he turned and jogged off to get back in the line of _vod’e_ waiting to run the course again. ‘24 nodded to himself and smiled for just one moment longer.

The expression faded quickly into a glower. How in the Hels was he going to get them both to level seven? And without the _Kaminiise_ realizing? ‘24 groaned as he realized that they were going to need help. Possibly _lots_ of help.

* * *

There was only one of the _vod’e_ that ‘24 went to when he really needed help. Generally, it was advice on how to help another one of their _vod’e_ . ‘24 didn’t think he’d ever gone to his _ori’vod_ with a request like _this_ before.

Alpha-17 just blinked at him, and then he frowned, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head. He was so much _bigger_ than ‘24, which just wasn’t fair. Sure, ‘24 knew he was _older_ , and was about the equivalent of fourteen at the moment, but _still_ . They were clones of the _same person_ , why did Alpha-17 get to be _bigger_?

“Why do you and ‘67 need to go to level seven?” he asked. “It’s restricted.”

“I know that,” ‘24 grumbled, rolling his eyes and folding his arms over his chest, feeling just the slightest bit _defensive_ . “‘67 is… worried. About _buir_ , and Boba, and _ba’vodu_ . It’s affecting his performance, and he… can’t afford the distraction.” Alpha-17 grimaced faintly. ‘24 hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to continue. “I thought that at least _knowing_ what was happening might help. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s probably Sanma Vo. But she almost never leaves the seventh level.”

“Ah,” Alpha-17 sighed, and he shook his head. “There are easier ways than that, _vod’ika_. Wait here.”

‘24 huffed and threw himself down on Alpha-17’s cot, leaning back against the wall of the bunk, his arms folded over his chest and his head hanging down. He wasn’t _sulking_ \--really, he wasn’t. He was just… waiting. Comfortably.

“You can’t tell _anyone_ about this,” Alpha-17 said. ‘24 looked up; his _ori’vod_ had his hands behind his back, and a serious expression on his face. Slowly, ‘24 nodded. “Swear to me that you won’t.”

“ _Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it_ ,” ‘24 said gravely. Alpha-17 nodded and then smiled. From behind his back he pulled out a datapad--a little scuffed around the edges, but it otherwise looked like any other ‘pad.

“This datapad has an open connection to the Holonet,” Alpha-17 said. ‘24’s eyes went wide, and Alpha-17’s grin turned wolfish.

“Where did you… but _how_?” ‘24 asked. Alpha-17 laughed and sat down beside ‘24 on his bunk.

“Grabbed it from _buir_ ’s quarters a while ago,” Alpha-17 admitted, and ‘24 sputtered wordlessly. Alpha-17 laughed brightly. “I’m pretty sure he knows we have it, and just pretends he doesn’t so he doesn’t have to report us.”

“Oh.” ‘24 stared at it. He wasn’t even sure how the Holonet _worked_ , to be honest. The _Kaminiise_ insisted that they had all of the information they would need in their databanks, and gave them datapads that only connected to _their_ network. This was… incredible. “How can that tell us what happened? Do you just… search for things like you search course materials? But how do we know what we’re even looking for?”

“Well, we know where _buir_ was headed, at least,” Alpha-17 said. “That’s a start. Now we just need to scout for chatter about _buir_ , or Mandalore.”

‘24 nodded slowly. “Show me how?”

The wolfish grin reappeared. “You bet, _vod’ika_.”

* * *

‘24’s head was starting to hurt. He _knew_ that he was engineered to be able to absorb information better than the average human, but the sheer _implications_ of how to apply the coding and slicing skills they were being taught in their _actual_ courses were daunting, and it didn’t help that now ‘24 could actually _see_ how much the _Kaminiise_ were keeping from them. It made his head spin. And it started to hurt.

But watching the impromptu statement his _buir_ had given made it all worth it, he thought.

When the recording began, _buir_ was standing in front of a long, low, white building with teal paint around the windows and on the doors, clearly having been caught by reporters, either on his way in or his way out. Beside him was a blonde man, tall and thin, with a severe look to him. He wasn’t wearing _beskar’gam_ , although _buir_ was still wearing his; the stranger was wearing robes, purple and blue. Nice colors, but not _intimidating,_ not like _buir_.

“ _Is it true that you claimed the Darksaber?_ ” one of the reporters asked, shoving a microphone towards _buir_ , who scowled at them, but nodded, saying nothing.

“ _The_ Mand’alor _is once again in possession of the Darksaber. As he should be,_ ” the blonde man said.

“ _Show us!_ ” someone in the crowd cried. The camera shook slightly as the crowd jostled, all of them trying to get a better look at _buir_.

Slowly, _buir_ stepped away from them, nearly pressing his back against the building behind him, and took some sort of metal hilt from his belt. A moment later, ‘24 gasped as a bolt of shimmering _black_ burst forth from it.

The _Dah’beskad. Buir_ had claimed the _Dah’beskad_ . ‘24 knew the stories, had listened with rapt attention to both _buir_ and _ba’vodu_ when they told their tales, and he _knew_ what that meant.

 _Buir_ was _truly_ the _Mand’alor_ now. No one who respected the Old Ways would deny that. Not anymore.

The crowd around them seemed to recognize this as well, and a round of cheering went up. Just as carefully as he had displayed it, _buir_ retracted the _Dah’beskad_ and clipped it to his belt once more.

“ _Is it true that a_ **Jedi** _fought in the battle?_ ” another voice asked, and yet another microphone was shoved towards _buir_. The blonde man looked concerned, and frowned at _buir_.

“Elek.” _Buir_ ’s single word threw the assembled crowd into a tizzy, some of them cheering, some of them booing, and some of them just gasping. ‘24 frowned--he didn’t understand what was so amazing about that. _Buir_ had allowed himself to be cloned to make an army meant for the _Jetiise_ , of course. Why would it be so shocking that one of them had fought beside _buir_?

“ _Traitor!_ ” someone shouted. ‘24’s frown turned into an outright _glower_ as he noticed the flinch that _buir_ couldn’t quite contain at that--anyone who didn’t know him well probably wouldn’t have noticed, but it was ‘24’s entire _purpose_ to be observant, and he _did_ know him well.

 _Buir_ held up both hands, and the crowd slowly subsided. ‘24 smiled a bit at that--at least they respected _buir_ , to some degree.

“ _He may be a_ Jetii _,” buir_ said slowly, “ _but he is also_ Mando’ad _._ ”

“ _How can you say that?_ ” The camera quickly panned over to an older woman, in simple purple robes. ‘24 frowned at the look on her face--she seemed… haunted. “ _My husband was on Galidraan with you. Have you forgotten what they did to us?_ ”

“ _Do you really think I could ever forget?_ ” _buir_ asked, shaking his head and grimacing. “ _I remember it as if it were yesterday. But the_ Jetiise _weren’t entirely to blame._ ” Another uproar rose at that, and _buir_ scowled and unhooked his blaster pistol from his belt, firing it up into the air. The crowd fell silent--almost _eerily_ silent, like everyone was holding their breath. “ _It was_ Kyr’tsad. _It was_ always Kyr’tsad _. Did the_ Jetiise _bomb our hospitals? Did they kidnap orphans to pad their numbers?_ ” Another ripple of discontented murmuring went through the crowd, but they remained mostly quiet as _buir_ spoke. “ _That was_ Kyr’tsad _. And it has always been_ Kyr’tsad _. They manipulated us_ **and** _the_ Jetiise _, on Galidraan. The_ Jetiise _… could have done things differently. But we all could have. It’s time to let the old wounds heal, and face the true threats to Mandalore, and all_ Mando’ade _._ ”

“ _Well said_ ,” the blonde man murmured.

“ _Who was the_ Jetii _? Come on, give us a name!_ ” one of the reporters said, but _buir_ shook his head.

“ _I’m not throwing him under the speeder for you vultures to take a crack at him_ ,” _buir_ snorted, which got a chuckle out of the crowd. He paused, looking thoughtful, and then slowly, haltingly, he said: “ _What I will say is this: I fought so that our sick and wounded could be safe as they recovered. I fought so that our_ ade _could have a chance at a better life, out of the clutches of_ Kyr’tsad _. I fought so that those of my people who would wish to choose peace may have it. And a_ Jetii _fought beside me, but he is a_ Mando Jetii _. And that day, we fought for the same things. And I have hope that we will continue to fight on the same side._ ”

That set off another round of questions, the reporters and civilians in the crowd alike all shouting over each other. But it seemed that _buir_ was done speaking, and he disappeared into the hospital, the blonde man beside him, and two large, _beskar’gam_ -clad _Mando’ade_ guarding the entrance, one of them with a mythosaur painted onto his chest, and the other with some sort of lilies. The feed cut out.

‘24 looked up at Alpha-17, who was frowning thoughtfully. “What in the Hels were they talking about? What’s Galidraan?”

“I don’t know,” Alpha-17 admitted slowly. “But that’s a little besides the point right now. We were trying to figure out why _ba’vodu_ left and took Bob’ika, remember?” ‘24 sighed and nodded, running one hand through his hair. “So, what do we know now?”

“That was a hospital,” ‘24 said instantly.

“And how do you know that?”

“ _Mando’ade_ use the color teal to mean peace and healing,” ‘24 answered immediately. “We already knew from what _buir_ told us that he was headed for the Mandalore system, to fight _Kyr’tsad_.” Alpha-17 nodded approvingly.

“What else?”

“There was a battle. We knew that there would be, from what _buir_ said, but that was confirmed by the video,” ‘24 continued, and Alpha-17 nodded again. “ _Buir_ was at a hospital, after a battle. Someone was injured.”

“Most likely,” Alpha-17 agreed. “But I don’t think it was _buir._ ”

“I don’t think so either,” ‘24 said. “He seemed too well-off for it to have been him.”

“So,” Alpha-17 said, his brow furrowing, “we know that _buir_ was at a hospital after the battle, so someone must’ve been injured. But it wasn’t him. Who else would’ve been important enough to _ba’vodu_ for her to leave without a word? _And_ take Boba with her?”

“I don’t know,” ‘24 said slowly. He tried to recall what he could as quickly as he could of what _ba’vodu_ had told him of her life before coming to Kamino for them. “She was a slave, on Tatooine. Is there any connection between Mandalore and Tatooine?”

“Not that I know of,” Alpha-17 said, “but that doesn’t mean much. Tatooine is… out-of-the-way. It’s in the Outer Rim, and not part of the Republic, even after the uprising--”

“The uprising,” ‘24 said immediately, sitting up straighter; they both paused to pass their hands over their brows. Alpha-17 frowned at him in silent question. “Maybe the _Jetii_ who fought with _buir_ was on Tatooine during the uprising. Or one of his friends. Helping a slave uprising sounds exactly like the sort of thing a _Jetii_ would do.”

“There wasn’t a report of a _Jetii_ helping to free them,” Alpha-17 said slowly. “And _ba’vodu_ hasn’t ever talked about it.”

“Maybe because it’s a secret,” ‘24 suggested. “ _Buir_ seemed pretty set on keeping the _Jetii_ ’s name quiet. Maybe it’s been that way since Tatooine.”

“Maybe,” Alpha-17 agreed slowly. “It’s a good theory.”

“But how do we prove it?” ‘24 asked, frowning thoughtfully. Alpha-17 grinned at him, baring his teeth again.

“You’re getting to be a pretty good slicer, aren’t you?”

‘24 nodded. “Top of my Code III class.”

“Then why don’t we take a little peek into a few records?”

* * *

It was very late--or early, judging from the light starting to filter in through the windows--when ‘24 snuck out of the Alpha-gen barracks to head back to the CC-barracks. He thought he still had a few hours until he had to be up, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Hels, he was practically vibrating with excitement over what they’d managed to find out, and he could only imagine the look on ‘67’s face when he told him…

Grinning to himself, ‘24 turned around, heading for the CT-barracks.

He managed to get there without being spotted by the two droids the _Kaminiise_ had policing the corridors, and he headed straight for ‘67’s bunk. ‘67 was sleeping soundly, snoring softly; ‘24 poked his cheek and hissed.

“Psst! _Vod’ika_ ,” ‘24 said. ‘67’s eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth, closed it again, and then grunted.

“Wha--?”

“Get up,” ‘24 said. “By the _ka’ra_ , have I got a story for you.”

The open comm speakers built into the walls chose that moment to go off, and one of the _vod’e_ said, “ _All units, assembly._ **_Now_ ** _._ ”

‘24 grimaced at ‘67, who grabbed his arm. “You have to go. You can’t get caught here with us--”

‘24 shook his head. “It’ll be better to wait until all of you are heading into the halls; I can blend in, until we reach the other CCs.” ‘67 nodded slowly and glanced around at the other _vod’e_ nervously. ‘24 smiled to himself; he didn’t have to worry about them. None of the _vod’e_ would ever out another. _Vod’e an._

‘24 filed out with the rest of the CTs, keeping a _vod_ or two between himself and ‘67 at all times, just in case anyone were to spot their familiar combination. Unlikely, since most of the _Kaminiise_ had trouble identifying them individually without their numbers displayed prominently somewhere on their clothing, but possible, and not worth the risk. He caught sight of CC-1138 and nodded to ‘67 before slipping through the _vod’e_ to fall into place beside ‘38.

“Where were you? Nobody saw you at all last night,” ‘38 murmured.

“Alpha-barracks,” ‘24 said truthfully. ‘38 nodded slowly. “Heard any chatter about what the assembly’s for?”

‘38 shrugged. “Something about security. Maybe a new drill.” ‘24 nodded, relaxing slightly, resisting the urge to look to Alpha-17.

They all filed into the large meeting room, forming neat lines as they fell into formation. It took only a few short minutes before they were all in place, standing there at attention. At the front of the room, Sanma Vo, Taun We, and Lama Su were all speaking quietly, their eyes narrowed and their heads swaying quickly. ‘24 frowned--whatever this was, it was serious, for all of them to be here.

Finally, Taun We stepped forward. “It has come to our attention that there was a security breach last night. We are well aware that one of you was responsible, and we _will_ find out who was behind this.”

‘24’s heart dropped into his stomach, his mouth going dry. He flicked his gaze over to Alpha-17, whose expression was a little _too_ neutral; ‘24 saw him take a deep breath as if to brace himself, and he started to move--

‘24 stepped forward before Alpha-17 could, and called out, “It was me.”

Thousands of sets of eyes turned to look at him, then, but ‘24 kept his gaze resolutely on Taun We. She swayed her head again, studying him before nodding.

“CC-2224, come with me.” She turned away. It took a moment before ‘24’s legs would move to follow her. Distantly, he was aware of Alpha-17 jogging over to them.

“I helped him,” he admitted. Taun We turned back, blinking at him slowly, before bobbing her head.

“This way.”

‘24 glared at Alpha-17, who glared back and shook his head minutely. ‘24 clenched his jaw and turned to follow Taun We. She led them through the hallway at the front of the room, behind the platform where the _Kaminiise_ , and sometimes _buir_ , spoke during assembly. She turned and led them to a lift. They rode in tense silence for a short time, and then ‘24’s heart dropped when he realized they were stopping at the seventh level.

Taun We began to lead them on a familiar path, and ‘24 was confused. _Ba’vodu_ and _buir_ weren’t here--why would they be going to their quarters? She stopped in front of _ba’vodu_ ’s door and hit the chime.

Only a few moments later, the door opened with a soft _swish_ and there stood _ba’vodu_ , in her _beskar’gam_ , looking curiously at them.

“Good morning,” she said simply, as though she hadn’t been _missing_ , possibly in _danger_ , for the last _three weeks_ \--

“Lady Shmi,” Taun We greeted her. “We have encountered a… situation.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And per your request, we are offering you the chance to resolve it,” Taun We said, and _ba’vodu_ blinked at the _Kaminii_ before smiling.

“Thank you. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, allowing Taun We to enter, and her smile grew as she looked at ‘24, and then Alpha-17 behind him. “ _Ner ade_.”

“ _Ba’vodu_ ,” ‘24 said, his voice raspy. She frowned at him, tilting her head, and then gestured them inside. Taun We had already taken a seat at the table, and _ba’vodu_ waved a hand at it.

“Sit. Would you like tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Alpha-17 answered for all of them. _Ba’vodu_ smiled at him and nodded, turning back to the kitchen, grabbing a tray and busying herself making tea.

It seemed like it took forever for her to finish the tea. It gave ‘24 time for his stomach to sink even further, down into his _cetare_ , his heart pounding in his chest. He’d never done anything _wrong_ before. Well, nothing this _big_ . He’d covered for his _vod’e_ before, he’d stayed out past curfew, he’d slept in the other barracks in piles of _vod’e_ before when he was supposed to be with the other CCs, but ‘24 had never done anything like _this--_

 _Ba’vodu_ set the tray down on the table and began passing them mugs of steaming tea. ‘24 nodded his thanks and wrapped his hands around it, not trying to drink yet. He knew his hands were shaking too badly.

“Now, what’s happened?” _Ba’vodu_ asked, looking at Taun We.

“Our Holonet connection was used last night to slice into the Jedi’s files,” Taun We said simply, and _ba’vodu_ blinked at her, and then glanced first at Alpha-17, and then ‘24.

“And you boys were responsible for that?” she asked. They both nodded slowly.

“It was me,” ‘24 said, his voice still hoarse, his throat too dry. _Ba’vodu_ looked pointedly down at his tea; he flushed and looked down before slowly, carefully, taking a small sip. “I sliced into the files.”

“I gave him the datapad, though,” Alpha-17 said, and _ba’vodu_ looked at him, and then sighed and shook her head. She turned back to Taun We.

“Thank you for coming to me,” she said. “I am certain there is some innocent explanation, and I will get to the bottom of this.”

Taun We nodded and seemed to ignore that she had not even touched her tea, rising gracefully, bobbing her head on her long neck. “I will return to the others.” With a last, considering look at ‘24, Taun We glided out of the room.

They fell into silence, _ba’vodu_ mostly sipping at her tea while Alpha-17 and ‘24 just stared at her, trying to remember their training, and not to squirm.

Finally, ‘24 couldn’t take it anymore. “‘67 was worried about all of you. It was affecting his performance, and he can’t afford to make mistakes,” he said softly. “And I was… angry with you. For not telling us you were leaving, and not warning us that you were taking Bob’ika.”

 _Ba’vodu_ sighed. “And I am sorry for that, _ner ad_ , but I could not have told any of you. Do you truly think there would not be at least one of your _vod’e_ who would have tried to sneak onto my ship?” She shook her head, a smile twisting her lips. “I couldn’t take the risk that one of you might _succeed_.” ‘24 blinked, the anger now warring with a spike of pleasure that she really thought they were good enough now to stow away without being found by her. “What files did you access? And why the Order’s files specifically?”

Alpha-17 and ‘24 exchanged glances, and then ‘24 sighed. “We found the video of the reporters asking _buir_ questions outside the hospital.”

“I see,” she murmured. “You must have had a great many questions, about your _buir_ , and the _Jetiise_ .” ‘24 nodded. _Ba’vodu_ looked at him, then, her smile growing. “And you must be a very talented slicer, to get into the Temple’s files.”

‘24 smiled despite himself, nodding. “Some of the other _vod’e_ have started calling me Cody.” She blinked at him, her expression going perfectly blank. ‘24 frowned. “You know, because I was the top of my Code III class.”

“Stay here,” she ordered, standing up so quickly her chair squeaked across the floor. She disappeared into her bedroom for a moment and came back with a commlink.

A moment later, it connected, and ‘24 sucked in a breath as a familiar voice answered gruffly, “ _Fett_.”

“Jango,” _ba’vodu_ said, still staring straight at ‘24. “One of _cuun ade_ has something to tell you.” She stepped forward again, handing him the commlink. He took it with a still-shaking hand. “Tell him what you just told me. About what they call you.”

“I was top of my Code III class,” ‘24 said, and found his mouth still too dry. He paused to take a sip of the tea. It was delicious, with a hint of spice and something sweet. “The other _vod’e_ started calling me Cody.”

Silence greeted this, and then _buir_ chuckled roughly. “ _That explains quite a bit. Shm’ika, you know about these things more than I do. Could a Force vision really tell him the boy’s name?_ ”

“I am uncertain,” _ba’vodu_ said, frowning thoughtfully. “I will ask Anakin, the next time we speak.”

“I have a name?” ‘24 asked dully, latching onto that part of the conversation, stunned into single-mindedness. _Ba’vodu_ stilled, looking at him.

“Elek,” _buir_ said immediately. “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, _Cody_.”

 _Ba’vodu_ looked pleased. ‘24-- _Cody_ \--blinked rapidly. He looked up at Alpha-17, who looked just as stunned as he thought he must. He’d known that Jango Fett considered them all his _ade_ , that was readily apparent in how much time he spent with each of them, making a point to get to know all of them as much as he could, with how many there were, and how he told them to call him _buir_.

But he’d just been actually, really _adopted_ by him. He’d been given a _name_ , he was more than just a _number_ now--

“We’ll speak more later,” _ba’vodu_ declared. “I’ll comm after I’ve spoken to Anakin.”

“K’oyacyi,” _buir_ said, and then the comm disconnected. ‘24-- _Cody_ , and he knew it would still take a bit to get used to thinking of himself that way--held it out, and _ba’vodu_ took it.

“General Kenobi knows who I am?” Cody asked, and _ba’vodu_ frowned at him.

“How do you know that name? Is that what you were poking around in the Order’s files for?” she asked, and Cody nodded slowly.

“We were trying to figure out why you left, and if something had happened to _buir_ ,” he explained. “We could tell that someone had been injured, since _buir_ was at a hospital, but he didn’t seem like he’d been hurt. So we… looked into it.”

 _Ba’vodu_ raised an eyebrow at him, but Cody’s mouth had gone dry again. He sipped at his tea, and Alpha-17 picked up the thread.

“We knew from what _buir_ told the reporters that there was a _Jetii_ with him,” Alpha-17 said. “And we figured it had to be a _Jetii_ who was important to you, too, for you to leave the way you did, to see him when he was injured. So we looked in the _Jetiise_ files to see if we could figure out who. ‘24-- _Cody_ \--had a hunch that whoever it was had helped on Tatooine, during the uprising.” They all paused to pass a hand over their brows in the Amavikka gesture of respect, remembrance, and hope. _Ba’vodu_ nodded for them to continue.

“There were three _Jetiise_ on Tatooine around the time of the uprising: General Vos, General Jinn, and General Kenobi. But General Vos left before the uprising, and General Jinn was on medical leave when it happened. That left General Kenobi, and we found the file that said that _buir_ had captured him, and was trying to turn him in for the bounty,” Cody said, shaking his head. “We didn’t believe that for a second. If _buir_ hadn’t helped with the uprising, you wouldn’t have come here with him; so it made sense that _both_ the _Jetii_ and _buir_ helped, working together.”

 _Ba’vodu_ was perfectly still, perfectly blank, for a long moment, and then she laughed. “You’re very bright boys,” she murmured. “Yes, that much is true.”

Cody nodded. “The last note in General Kenobi’s file was from the _Jetii_ High Council, reporting that he’d gone to the Mandalore system. We knew we had the right one after that.”

 _Ba’vodu_ smiled at him, but the expression now seemed… brittle. “You must be a _very_ good slicer, to breach the Order’s systems,” she repeated thoughtfully.

Cody shrugged, frowning. “I’m not bad, but…”

“But?” she prompted gently.

“It almost seemed like General Kenobi’s file was the _easiest_ to get into,” he said. “Like… someone had already done it, and left a way back in.”

 _Ba’vodu_ looked troubled by that, and Alpha-17 was staring at him thoughtfully. _Ba’vodu_ nodded slowly.

“You’ve shown impressive skills, Cody,” she praised him. He ducked his head, and she chuckled softly. “But you know you cannot do this again.” He looked up and nodded quickly. _Ba’vodu_ nodded back, and then turned to Alpha-17. “And you, _ner ori’ad_ , will have to give the datapad back.” Alpha-17 frowned, and she raised an eyebrow. “Of course we knew that you had it. So long as you did not _abuse_ the privilege, we were content to let you keep it.” Alpha-17’s frown became a scowl, but he nodded. “I may assure Taun We, then, that this will not happen again?” They both nodded, in unison this time. _Ba’vodu_ smiled. “ _Jate, vor’e_. Now, finish your tea.”

“Is he really a _Mando Jetii_ ?” Cody blurted out. _Ba’vodu_ blinked at him. “It’s just--I checked the register. His name was only added a week ago.”

 _Ba’vodu_ smiled softly. “Yes. He has always been _mandokarla_ , but he only recently swore to the _Resol’nare_ \--and it was a modified version.”

“Modified?” Alpha-17 asked, frowning. Many of them had already sworn to the _Resol’nare_ \--those of them who were the equivalent of thirteen Standards for a natborn, anyway. Cody hadn’t, yet, though he planned to, when he was old enough. It wouldn’t be long, now. But the _Resol’nare_ was… sacred. Why change it?

“Yes. As a _Jetii_ , he is not allowed to take vows that would require that he pledge his loyalty to another,” _ba’vodu_ explained. “Jango, as _Mand’alor_ , was able to offer another option. He changed the last line: _‘Mando'a bal ka'ra_ ,’ rather than ‘ _Mando’a bal Mand’alor_ .’ _Ka’ra_ was meant to represent the Force.”

Alpha-17 snorted. “And it just so happens to also mean every _Mand’alor_ who has come before, and now marches far away?” He shook his head. “ _Buir_ knew what he was doing.”

 _Ba’vodu_ laughed. “And Obi-Wan knew what he swore. But it was an oath and an explanation that his Order was likely to accept.”

Cody frowned into his mug. “Anakin is your _ad_ ?” _Ba’vodu_ nodded, her smile turning both sad and joyful, as it often did when she spoke of the one _ad_ she had born herself. “I heard you say you were going to ask him about visions.”

She nodded. “Yes. Obi-Wan said that he had a vision of all of you. We think that is how he knew your name.”

Cody blinked. The _implications_ of that--he frowned as he realized she didn’t seem to know what that really _meant_ . “ _Ba’vodu_ , in General Kenobi’s file, there were mentions of a vision. It was shared with other _Jetiise_ \--it said there were six of them who had the same vision.” _Ba’vodu_ frowned.

“Did it say who?” Cody shook his head. She sighed. “Thank you, Cody.”

He warred with himself for a moment, trying to hold the question back, but his mouth began speaking before he had consciously given it permission. “How do you actually _know_ that General Kenobi knows my name? Did he…?” _Did he talk about me?_ Cody didn’t finish that sentence, trailing off and blushing.

 _Ba’vodu_ blinked at him, and then smiled, a sly little expression, her eyes bright. “He mistook your _buir_ for you.”

 _Oh_. That was…

“Wow,” Alpha-17 breathed, grinning broadly. _Ba’vodu_ smiled indulgently.

Cody’s blush deepened. He looked down at his tea again, his mind still reeling. General Kenobi was clearly his _buir_ ’s _burc’ya_ , if not a _vod_ . For him to look at Jango Fett and not see _him_ , to see _Cody_ instead, and to call him by the name he didn’t even really _have yet_ \--

What else could the Force show someone? And why _him_?

“You all have a free day today,” _ba’vodu_ said, breaking through Cody’s racing thoughts. He looked up at her curiously, Alpha-17 echoing the expression. She smiled at them, teeth bared, wolfish. Cody felt a shiver run down his spine. “I did not return from Concord Dawn alone. Tomorrow, you will begin training with your new teachers. I suggest you get some rest. They will not go easy on you.”

Cody was torn between concern and excitement, and he shared a glance with Alpha-17, whose eyes were just as wide, and his mouth torn between a frown and a smile, his brow furrowing lightly. Cody was certain it was like looking in a mirror, and he snorted, shaking his head. Picking up his tea, he finally began to drink in earnest. It really _was_ delicious.

* * *

 _Ba’vodu_ took them back down to the barracks level, and then nodded to them before heading back upstairs. Alpha-17 and Cody parted ways, then; Alpha-17 was off to his own barracks, first, to give them an update and reassure them that he wasn’t being decommissioned. Cody knew that he should go to the CC-barracks first, but…

He headed straight for the CT-barracks. The moment he entered, a hush fell over the _vod’e_ , and ‘67 came striding up to him, barrelling straight into his chest, their chestplates clinking together as ‘67 wrapped him in a crushing hug.

“Kriffing _di’kut_ ,” ‘67 rasped into his ear, still holding onto him tightly.

“It’s okay, _vod’ika_ ,” Cody murmured. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. And so is _buir_ . That’s what I came to tell you this morning.” ‘67 nodded and led him to his bunk; this time, the other _vod’e_ made no pretense about watching them, gathering around and packing in as tightly as they could, pulling other _vod’e_ into their laps as they sat on bunks or the floor, packing in to make sure as many as possible got to hear this.

“What happened?”

“Last night, we found a video,” Cody said, and then he grimaced. “I was going to show it to you, but _ba’vodu_ is taking back the datapad.” ‘67 frowned, and Cody backed up a step. “Alpha-17 had a datapad with an open ‘Net connection.” A ripple of murmuring went through the other _vod’e_ at that, but Cody ignored it. “But _ba’vodu_ is obviously taking it back now, because… Last night, we used it to look for information on what _buir_ was doing, and if he was okay, and we… found something.

“In the video, _buir_ made it pretty clear that there had been a battle with _Kyr’tsad_ .” They all tensed, and Cody nodded. “We knew that he was going to fight them. And he _won_ .” A chorus of cheering went up at that, and Cody allowed himself a wide grin before shaking his head and raising his hands to quiet them. “He claimed the _Dah’beskad_ . He’s truly the _Mand’alor_ now, to anyone who follows the Old Ways. But that’s not all we found out. There was a _Jetii_ fighting with them.” Cody waited for the next wave of whispering to die down before continuing, giving them a moment to process what he’d said. “He’s a _Mando Jetii_ . He swore to the _Resol’nare_.”

He couldn’t control them after that, the _vod’e_ breaking down into cheers and whoops of excitement. Even Cody smiled, watching it; beside him, ‘67 was grinning almost as broadly.

“Alright, alright, let him finish!” ‘67 called out, and the shouts finally began to calm. Cody nodded his thanks, his smile melting away as he realized what he had to explain next.

“Apparently, it was a really big deal for him to fight with _buir_ , and for him to have sworn the _Resol’nare_ ,” Cody said. His voice wanted to come out as a strained whisper, but he forced himself to project, for all his _vod’e_ to hear. “There was an… incident. There’s a planet called Galidraan, and the _Haat Mando’ade_ had taken a job there, during the Clan Wars…”

* * *

Cody’s first class the next day was apparently called “Advanced Command.” That was it, nothing else, no other details. There wasn’t even a proper _course description_ on his _Kaminiise_ -issued datapad.

Cody waited among the rest of the CCs, standing stiffly at attention in formation as they waited for their instructor to speak. His armor was brown and gold--for valor and vengeance, Cody knew. He wasn’t the largest man, but just the way he walked, the way he looked over all of them… He still had his _buy’ce_ on, but Cody got a _feeling_ from him, the same sort of feeling he got from his _buir_ . This man was a predator, and everyone else was _prey_ . It sent a little thrill down his spine, knowing that this man was going to be teaching him. _Buir_ was the best, obviously, but he was just one man, and he didn’t have time to focus so intently on smaller groups. To get this kind of attention from a real _Mando’ad_ … 

Finally, the man pulled off his _buy’ce_ and tucked it under one arm, peering at all of them. He was older, with greying hair and a severe look to him.

“ _Ner gai_ Kal Skirata,” he said. As one, the _vod’e_ pressed their fingers to the mouths of their _buy’ce_ , and then over their hearts, to honor the name they had been trusted with. He tilted his head curiously, but did not comment on it as they returned to standing stiffly at attention in unison. “I understand you’re all close with Jango Fett, your… _buir_.”

“Yes, sir!” they cried in unison. Skirata nodded slowly.

“Well, I was going to offer to give you an update on how things went, but I heard you already found out for yourselves,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. The _vod’e_ tensed, and Cody along with them. Skirata waved a hand. “I commend you for it. No true _Mando’ade_ would be passive when their kin might be in trouble.” They relaxed again, and Skirata nodded. “At ease.” They all changed position, feet spreading and hands clasped loosely behind their backs. “I have also been told that you are called by your numbers?” Cody did not move, going perfectly still, but _someone_ must have looked at him, because Skirata’s eyes met his the next moment, even through his _buy’ce,_ and Skirata raised an eyebrow. “ _Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“...Cody, sir.”

Skirata nodded, smiling again. “Commander Cody.” He nodded and looked back out over the other _vod’e_. “If any of you find a name for yourselves, tell me, and I will use it.”

“Yes, sir!”

Skirata nodded again. “Now, I’d like to see what you boys can do. What’s the best demonstration of your abilities?” No one answered immediately, and Skirata turned a raised eyebrow on Cody.

He mulled over the question for a moment, and then grinned slowly under the cover of his _buy’ce_. “Open spar, sir.” Someone behind him groaned, and Cody resisted the urge to turn to glare at them. Feeling vindictive, he added, “No padding.” Several others groaned at that as well.

Skirata himself laughed and nodded. “Well then, boys: time to show me what you’re made of. Move it!”


	14. Qui-Gon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you so much for all of your wonderful comments, all the subscriptions, the kudos, the bookmarks. They really are the fuel that keeps me going with this story. :D
> 
> So, bonus chapter! I just finished editing chapter 16, and I'm incredibly excited about that one, and I want to get to it sooner... So chapter 15 will be up on Monday, and 16 on the following Monday. Or possibly sooner, we'll have to see if I can finish the chapters after that in a timely manner. I like to have a bit of a cushion so that I can guarantee the update schedule won't be impacted for you guys if real life gets in the way (which it's been trying to do a lot, lately).
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy it! :D

The Committee was a worthwhile endeavor. Qui-Gon fully  _ believed _ that, and he was quite honored to have been asked to sit it upon it, and quite pleased by the indication that the Council was  _ finally _ realizing how their traditions had become shackles for the Order, stifling its growth and prosperity.

But he would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to the day their business was concluded, the promise of finally receiving answers to those damnable visions a heavy weight he took into every session. He wished he could have held onto that conviction that he  _ shouldn’t _ know, but now that the offer had been made, he was hardly about to decline.

With ten members on their Committee--two each, from their own Temple, the Temple of Eedit, the Corellian Temple, the Temple of Dantooine, and the Temple of the Kyber--it was rather slow going. True, they were all seen as some of the most  _ radical _ Jedi in their Temples, and they were all eager for change, but that did not mean that they all wanted the  _ same _ changes. Some of them were mired in traditions of their own that they were unwilling to give up, and pushed for the others to adopt them--the Chandrilan Temple was one prime example. Their two representatives, Master Min Mera and Master Mon Tok, had spent an entire day trying to convince the other representatives that the relationship between the Order and the Senate was  _ essential _ , and that they should  _ not _ distance themselves. Chandrila was fiercely democratic, and Qui-Gon knew that the Jedi there had a close, but  _ cooperative _ and  _ productive _ , relationship with the Chandrilan House. Trying to explain that the Jedi did not  _ advise _ the Senate anymore, they merely took their  _ orders _ , was a long-winded endeavor. In the end, Qui-Gon had prevailed upon his Master for help in proving their point.

“Would you consider speaking to the Committee about Galidraan?” Qui-Gon had asked. He’d managed to catch Yan right after their ‘saber work with the still-healing Jedi from the Corellian Temple--and they were coming along very nicely, he thought; two of them, one Padawan and one Master, might even be declared fit for duty within the next six months at this rate. But Yan had been avoiding him, ever since he realized what Qui-Gon now knew; Qui-Gon felt guilty about it, knowing that Anakin was bothered by his absence at dinner, and Obi-Wan as well. Truthfully, Qui-Gon himself missed his presence in their quarters. He did not know how to bridge the gap, however, and hoped that time and patience were cure enough.

Yan had stilled, and paled, his expression going perfectly blank. Qui-Gon felt another flash of  _ guilt _ before reminding himself that this was  _ necessary _ .

“The Chandrilan Temple’s representatives have suggested that we should become even  _ more _ active in our connection to the Senate,” Qui-Gon explained. “They can’t seem to understand that the Senate is nothing like their House; Chandrila is a part of the Republic, yes, but far more removed than we are here in the heart of it. Your story would be… an impactful representation of the Order’s relationship with the Senate.”

“I shall meditate on your request.” It had been more than Qui-Gon had honestly hoped for, and so he’d quickly thanked him. If his Master did not agree, Qui-Gon still planned to tell the others himself about Galidraan, though he thought that a first-hand account would be far more convincing.

In the end, after a meditation Obi-Wan had joined him in, Yan had agreed.

Their meeting room was warm and casual. They had been given a large conference room by the Council, and the first day the Committee met had been spent getting to know one another and redecorating. The large, long table and chairs had been pushed towards one wall of the room, and covered in plants--Qui-Gon’s doing, with some help from a Corellian Master, Van Moro, who was just as enthusiastic as Qui-Gon about the Living Force. The chairs had been replaced by piles of comfortable cushions, and a comfortable, bright blue carpet had been spread out between them. Master Van, Master Min Mera, Master Mon Tok, and Master Keetha of the Temple of Eedit had all taken to visiting the creche to play with the younglings, and after a time, fingerpaintings they were gifted had begun to be tacked up to the walls. Once the younglings had realized where their artworks were going, their number had increased exponentially; two of the walls were now almost entirely covered in them.

The room was bright and warm, steeped in their  _ excitement _ and  _ camaraderie _ and  _ hope _ ; Qui-Gon was glad for the welcoming Light of the room as he led Yan in. The man’s shields were up high, letting nothing through, but Qui-Gon did not need the Force to know how his Master felt about Galidraan, the flares of Darkness it had inspired and speaking of it revived.

“Good morning, Qui-Gon,” Van greeted him warmly, and then he turned to Yan and bowed. “I am Master Van Moro, of the Corellian Temple.”

Yan bowed in return. “Master Yan Dooku.”

“Ah! Qui-Gon’s Master,” Van said with a smile and a nod. “I’m sure you could tell us the  _ best _ of the stories from his apprenticeship, hmm?”

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. Yan’s lips twitched in a barely-there smile and he raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon. “Tempting as that may be, my Padawan asked me to tell a different story today.”

“Oh?”

“I apologize for not requesting your permission beforehand,” Qui-Gon sighed, addressing the rest of the Committee as well. Most of them were still standing around in small groups, speaking quietly, not even having taken their cushioned seats yet. “If you would hear what he has to say, I believe it would demonstrate the point that Djinn and I were attempting to make yesterday, regarding our relationship with the Senate.”

The others glanced around at each other before nodding, some of them shrugging. “We were not instructed to keep the sessions of the Committee restricted, nor were we given an instruction that we could be the only speakers,” Chirrut said easily.

“Thank you, my friends,” Qui-Gon said, smiling broadly. The High Council--Hels,  _ any _ of the Councils within the Coruscant Temple--would have argued  _ procedure _ at this point. They might have spent an hour or several  _ days _ simply deciding whether or not a visitor would be allowed to speak. But this group of Jedi took less than a minute to decide upon their course. It was, to him, a sign that they were truly the best suited to their task.

“Please, sit,” Keetha said, creating another pile of cushions for him, beside Qui-Gon’s. Yan nodded his thanks and sank down.

The Masters were radiating calm expectation, waiting quietly for him to speak. Qui-Gon found the quiet, thin threads of their bond and sent a pulse of reassurance; Yan stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed, his shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly.

“Ten years ago, a team of Jedi was sent to Galidraan on the orders of the Senate…”

Qui-Gon knew the story, and focused on his fellow Jedi rather than Yan’s words. They all looked very grave, paying rapt attention; Djinn, Qui-Gon knew, was also familiar with Galidraan. It was widely-taught, in Temple diplomacy and history courses, and discussed in hushed tones between Masters and their Padawans, held up as an example of how the Order’s power may be misused. But to hear it from the source… Djinn’s lips were pursed into a thin line, his shoulders tense as he listened. It occurred to Qui-Gon, for the first time, that Djinn was already a Knight when Galidraan had occurred--a newer Knight, but one who had already begun to form something of a reputation by then. If he had not had a young Padawan, at the time,  _ he _ could have been part of the team sent to Galidraan. Hels, if Qui-Gon hadn’t been on the mission to Bandomeer, and the Council, at that time, respecting his wish not to be paired with his former Master,  _ Qui-Gon _ might have been on Galidraan.

It could have been  _ any of them _ . And that was Qui-Gon’s  _ point _ . Any situation could turn into the bloodbath that was Galidraan, and that was the risk they took each time they listened blindly to the Senate.

“...Fett has, recently, been restored to his position as  _ Mand’alor _ ,” Yan said, nearing the end of his tale and describing the long-reaching effects of that mission. “The Clan Wars are all but over, after nearly twenty years. The Death Watch has been defeated, and the Darksaber claimed by Fett. But the Clan Wars may not have escalated to such a point if the Battle of Galidraan had not happened. Had Fett remained on Mandalore during that time, I doubt that the Death Watch could have accumulated so much power as they did.”

There was a moment of silence, the usual  _ peace-calm-Light _ that suffused the room heavy with grief and sorrow. In silent agreement, the other Masters opened themselves to each other, and released it into the Force before consciously pulling the Light closer.

Once the room was warm again, the chill chased away, Min Mera spoke first. “Thank you, Master Dooku. I understand: had the Order not trusted the Senate’s mandate, and investigated instead, Galidraan would not have been the tragedy that it was. However, I believe this proves the  _ opposite _ of the point you were trying to make, Qui-Gon. The Order should not  _ distance _ itself from the Senate--we should become even  _ closer _ . If we are to continue taking assignments from the Senate--which it seems we will have to, as too many worlds don’t seem to realize that they may ask us  _ directly _ \--then you should have a say in their business.”

Djinn sighed. “While that’s a fine idea, the Senate does not seem inclined to allow us to  _ participate _ . Hels, we’re rarely even called to speak before them, and even then, it’s never to  _ advise _ , not anymore. I can’t recall a single case of a Jedi being called before the Senate for anything other than a Council Confirmation or a high-profile mission report in  _ decades _ .”

There was a beat of silence, and then Baze asked, “Have you  _ tried _ ? Has the Order expressed that it  _ wants _ to become more involved?” He paused and shook his head. “The Order went to great lengths, after the demilitarization, at the end of the Galactic Sith War, to make itself seem… non-threatening. The Order went to such lengths that you recused yourself from playing any role in the government that you  _ helped to form _ . I understand that, at the time, to distinguish yourselves from the Sith, such things were necessary, but that time is long past. If you are to do this government’s work, if you are its citizens, then you deserve a say. But have you  _ asked _ for one?”

Qui-Gon glanced first at Djinn, and then at Yan. He frowned as he saw his Master’s hands folded together so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

“I’m uncertain,” Qui-Gon finally sighed. “Though I very much doubt it. The Order’s political neutrality has been a priority since the Reformation.”

Mon Tok laughed. “Only as an ideal, Qui-Gon. I’m sure you realize that. The Order has  _ already _ sided itself with the Republic, blatantly, through its actions, since the dawn of the Republic. Even those of us who aren’t from the Coruscant Temple all support our planets whole-heartedly, and complete missions for them as requested. And they are all  _ Republic planets _ .” She glanced at Chirrut and Baze. “Not to exclude you.”

Baze waved a hand. “We aren’t a Jedi Temple.”

“Might I suggest a break?” Chirrut said. “I believe I might have something in our records that is relevant.”

“Of course,” Min Mera said. “Half an hour?” There was a brief chorus of nods, and then they all began to stand up.

Once they were all on their feet, Keetha spoke, everyone pausing to look at her. “And Master Dooku? You have my deepest thanks, and admiration. I could sense how painful that was for you to tell us. You endured to put the greater good before yourself, and that is the true measure of a Jedi.”

She bowed, and the others with her. Yan stood there, still too pale, and Qui-Gon couldn’t help but smile as he blinked at them.

Softly, hoping that the others wouldn’t hear, Qui-Gon murmured, “I agree. Thank you, Master.”

* * *

Their break lasted long enough for Qui-Gon to deliver Yan to Obi-Wan in their quarters, tea waiting for them and a gentle, sympathetic smile on Obi-Wan’s face, and he had foregone his  _ beskar’gam _ , clearly mindful of the memories it would evoke. Qui-Gon left in good spirits, confident that his point had been well-made, and that Yan would be well taken care of.

When he returned, everyone was eager to get started, and directed their attention to Chirrut.

“In our Archives, we hold the original manuscript for the Jedi Order’s Recommendations on the Galactic Republic,” he said. There was a moment of stunned silence; they all  _ knew _ , of course, that the Temple of the Kyber boasted an impressive collection of relics, but  _ that _ was one of the most important documents of their history, from the formation of the Republic itself. “I consulted the digitalized copy, during our recess. I had thought I’d remembered this, and I was correct: the Order was offered several positions in the Republic when it was formed.

“The first was to become something like an independently-operating military force. That was rejected as the Order was already demilitarizing, and quickly, once the War was over. The second was an offer for the High Council to hold a veto power over the Chancellor’s, though they would not have any actual votes in the Senate. That was also rejected for giving too much power to the Order. The third and final offer was general representation within the Senate--the Order would have sent several Jedi to serve as Senators, with all of their normal powers.

“Back then, they truly  _ thought _ that they could be independent from the Republic, and their notes state that explicitly. There weren’t as many planets in the Republic when it was first formed, obviously, and so there was more of the galaxy to serve outside of it. Their beliefs about ‘neutrality’ were more realistic then. While they  _ did _ swear to protect the Republic, they were coming fresh out of a war against the Sith, who tried to annihilate everyone. What else could threaten the entire  _ Republic _ ?” Chirrut paused and shook his head minutely. “But I digress. Perhaps it is time for the Jedi to take a more active role in their own governance, and see if any of those old offers are still valid.”

Silence followed Chirrut’s explanation. Qui-Gon wondered what the Order might have looked like now, had those early Jedi accepted any of the offers made to them by that fledgling Republic.

“It may be time, but there are… certain variables in play,” Qui-Gon said slowly, frowning thoughtfully, considering each word carefully. The others looked him curiously. “We cannot be sure that the Senate and, therefore, the Republic are… untouched by the Sith. How else could they have hidden themselves so completely, and then arisen with such power? Who else could have hidden them so well, and how else would they have broken their secrecy with a such a powerful ally as the Trade Federation?” There were several flares of  _ disbelief-worry-anger-fear _ , too strong to be fully kept behind careful shields, and Qui-Gon let it wash over him. He had  _ plenty _ of reason to believe that the Senate was under the influence of the Sith, given what Obi-Wan had let slip. He shook his head. “We should include the information in our report to the Council, but I will not render an opinion. I would prefer to leave this in the hands of those who know more about the situation with the Sith than I.”

Slowly, the others nodded, and Qui-Gon relaxed slightly. He had feared that he would have to tell them about the visions to make his point, and he knew how  _ annoyed _ his friends would have been.

“That is fair,” Min Mera said slowly. “Now, given that Qui-Gon called in a speaker, would anyone object to us doing the same?”

Qui-Gon opened himself to the Force more fully. Feeling only the gentle curiosity of his fellows, Qui-Gon shook his head. “Not at all. That would be only fair.”

Min Mera nodded, smiling widely. Beside him, Mon Tok was also smiling, though she looked… sad. “Thank you. It may take several days before we can even decide upon a schedule, but she is already here on Coruscant, at least.”

Djinn nodded slowly. “We should probably warn the Council. Who might our esteemed visitor be?”

“The Junior Senator for Chandrila, Mon Monthma.” The name sent a shudder through Qui-Gon, though he could not have said why, the Force quivering with  _ goldenrod  _ expectation. He scowled lightly as the color danced by; his synesthesia was irritatingly  _ random _ these days. “She may be able to provide additional information for this part of the report. As a Senator, she’s quite familiar with the procedural aspects of the Republic, and I’d wager she could tell us what options the Order might have, and if those offers the founders made might come to anything now. She and her family have been friends of the Order.”

Qui-Gon glanced around; the others were nodding along, some smiling slightly. Finally, he nodded as well. “We will inform the Council.”

“In the meantime,” Mon Tok said, “what’s the next item on our agenda?”

“Our hosts have yet to make any suggestions,” Baze pointed out, grinning sharply at Qui-Gon and Djinn. All of them turned to look expectantly at the pair; Qui-Gon quickly looked to Djinn, nodding at him.

“I think we both have more than a few ideas,” Djinn said slowly. “Well, age before beauty, Qui-Gon. You first.”

Qui-Gon barked a laugh, shaking his head. Several of the others chuckled as well, quite used to Djinn’s irreverent humor by this point. “Very well.” He took a deep breath, his smile fading. “I’ve long suspected that the Order is… dying.” The others sat straighter at that, their eyes going wide, frowning at him. “We all know that our numbers are not even a fraction of what they once were--there were  _ millions _ of us, once. Now there are only around four hundred thousand, and that is if one counts  _ all _ of the Temples. Those numbers are dropping every year.

“But I believe that a large part of this is due to the changes made after the last Sith War, during the Ruusan Reformation. After the War, the Order was focused on avoiding potential Falls. That is why they instituted the Rule of One--they believed that if a Master was focused solely on one Padawan, it would be easier to sense problems, and the potential to Fall.” Qui-Gon grimaced and paused. “I can tell you from experience that that is not true.”

And Qui-Gon had known, both from his time with them in general, and from Yan’s own reception, that these people were  _ kind _ , but he had still not expected the wave of gentle sorrow and  _ compassion _ that hit him. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue. “Not every Jedi is meant to become a teacher, which is entirely understandable. But it does mean that our numbers have suffered greatly for it. Those suited to teaching should have the opportunity to teach as many as the Force wills.”

“I agree,” Djinn said with a firm nod. A round of murmured agreement went up, echoed into the Force. “Well, that was easy. I’ve formulated the same argument before, trying to come up with a way to convince the Council. That’s really all it took to convince all of  _ you _ ?”

Several of the assembled Jedi laughed. “We are far less rigid than your Council, my friend,” Keetha said gently. “And on Dantooine, our Masters may take as many apprentices as they wish, and apprentices may change Masters at any time, depending on who is best suited for what they wish to learn at that point in their training.”

“It is much the same on Corellia,” Mon Tok said. “Our Padawans  _ officially _ have only one Master, and  _ officially _ , Masters only have one Padawan, but in reality, they are paired with whichever Master is on an assignment that fits their chosen path, or teaching a course the Padawan requires. Oftentimes, that means Padwans are sorted into small groups and passed from Master to Master together, as if they were still part of a creche clan. So the idea does not seem terribly radical to us.”

“Well, then. All in favor of recommending the change to the Council?” It was unanimous, and Qui-Gon smiled. “Thank you. I have another suggestion, along the same line of thought.

“The age restrictions, both for accepting an Initiate into the creche, and the age limit to be taken as a Padawan, were also both added at the end of the last Sith War--”

“Actually,” Chirrut broke in, “the age restriction for an Initiate to be taken as a Padawan came before that, during the height of the Jedi’s power. As you said, there were  _ millions _ of Jedi, and there wasn’t enough room in the Temples for all of them. Initially, it was taken only to mean that an Initiate could no longer  _ reside _ in the Temple, not that they would have to leave the Order. They could still be accepted later on as Padawans, but they had to give up their place in the creche. That is where many of the satellite training Temples came into play, serving as a place for those who were no longer Initiates, but not yet Padawans, to continue their training, if they wished to remain on the Jedi path.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said again, smiling at him. Chirrut nodded and smiled back; though he could not see, Qui-Gon had no doubt that he could feel his gratitude in the Force. Chirrut had proven indispensable during their meetings as a font of knowledge about the history of the Order; Baze was far less scholarly, but was always capable at keeping them pointedly on track when they threatened to fall into meandering philosophical debates. He was genuinely grateful for both of their presences. “That only serves to further my point, that the age limits are hindering us rather than helping.”

“Isn’t there precedent, now? That Skywalker boy from Naboo?” Keetha asked, and Qui-Gon smiled and nodded.

“He’s from Tatooine, actually, but yes. Anakin Skywalker is my Grand-Padawan, now. We found him during the Naboo mission, when we had to land on Tatooine for emergency repairs to the hyperdrive,” Qui-Gon explained. “He was nine when he joined the creche. Since then, he has excelled in his classes.”

“A perfect example, then,” Keetha said with a toothy smile, “for leverage, if we need it. I agree with Qui-Gon. The age limits are only stifling the Order. We need to be  _ growing _ , not shrinking. We’ve all felt the way the galaxy is getting  _ Darker _ . There  _ have _ to be more of us to counter it.”

Another round of murmured agreement went up, and Qui-Gon nodded soberly. “All in favor?” Again, it was unanimous. “Thank you.”

“Any other suggestions?” Baze asked, and Qui-Gon looked to Djinn.

The man smiled softly, took a deep breath, and said, “I think we need to redefine ‘attachment.’”

* * *

Qui-Gon was  _ exhausted _ . Djinn certainly knew how to stir the pot, and his pronouncement had quickly devolved into heated debate.  _ Friendly  _ debate, of course, but quite heated just the same. They had quickly gotten away from Djinn’s main point--that “love” and “attachment” were not the same thing, and only one of those was strictly  _ forbidden _ \--and into an argument on the Code. His head ached, and he was suddenly glad for all of the philosophical discussions he’d taken up with Obi-Wan. He hadn’t been terribly interested, at the time, and had only intended to engage with him, but now he was glad for the opportunity to have gathered his thoughts on these issues before the Committee.

He was grateful that they had cancelled their ‘saber sessions with the Corellian Jedi for the day. Qui-Gon had thought that Yan might need some time, after relating the events on Galidraan to them all, but now he found that  _ he _ also needed some time--to recover from his splitting headache, if nothing else.

Anakin was still in class when Qui-Gon reached their quarters. He felt a sense of  _ relief _ that made him feel slightly guilty--much as he adored the boy, Anakin was  _ exhausting _ , and Qui-Gon already needed rest. It was times like this that he was glad he had left Anakin’s training to Obi-Wan, young and energetic enough yet to keep up with him.

Obi-Wan was on the thick carpet, still dressed down in his tunics rather than his armor, and Yan sat in the armchair beside him, both of them frowning down at a chessboard settled on the caff table between them.

Obi-Wan glanced back and gave him a smile. “Apologies, Qui-Gon. We started without you.” He held up one of the crystal tumblers, swirling the brandy around inside. Qui-Gon chuckled and shook his head.

“You were never much for day drinking when I was your Padawan, Master,” Qui-Gon teased lightly. Yan glanced up at him, his eyes narrowed. Qui-Gon smiled innocently at him. “I’m pleased to see you’ve loosened up a bit at last.”

Obi-Wan snorted and Yan clucked his tongue, raising an eyebrow at Qui-Gon and taking a pointed sip of his own brandy. Qui-Gon chuckled to himself and headed for the kitchen, already feeling lighter. He decided to forgo the brandy, instead pulling an ale out of the fridge. He paused as he glanced at the label; not his usual brand, but it did look familiar… He smiled and straightened, holding it up.

“Doesn’t Siri drink this?” he asked lightly. Obi-Wan looked up again, and shrugged.

“She came by the other day.”

“Oh? I thought I’d heard that she was back.” Qui-Gon grinned and popped the cap with a completely inappropriate use of the Force. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the chess board, stretching one leg out to rest a bare foot on the carpet, wiggling his toes as Anakin usually did. Qui-Gon smiled at that and shook his head, moving to join them, taking a seat on the couch to observe the game. Qui-Gon had never enjoyed chess much, himself, though Yan had forced him to play countless times in his youth. He had been fairly good at it, though never good enough to beat his Master. It had been years since he’d played, and he had never played against Obi-Wan. He wondered how good he was.

Obi-Wan finally moved a pawn one space forward, which, for some reason, made Yan’s eyes narrow. Had Qui-Gon studied the board a bit more closely, he was certain he could have eventually puzzled out what Obi-Wan was planning, but he was content to sit and  _ laze _ for the moment. As Yan contemplated his next move, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon again, taking another sip of his drink.

“Yes, Master Tholme summoned her back. Apparently someone’s been poking their nose where they shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “Someone  _ other _ than you, I mean.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched, pulled uncomfortably into a half-grimace and half-smile. “Imp.”

Obi-Wan grinned and shrugged, though his smile faded quickly. “Someone inside the Temple sliced into my files, and then left a door open for someone in the Senate. Siri’s looking into it.”

Yan looked up sharply at that, the game forgotten for the moment. Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed.

“I confess, I haven’t felt the need to look at your file since your Knighting,” Qui-Gon said slowly. “But wouldn’t it be public, as other Knights’ files are, aside from anything pertaining to the vision? Why would they need to slice into it? Unless they were looking for a particular mission report that was classified?” Obi-Wan, he knew, had taken many mission over the course of the past few years relating to their search for the Sith; no doubt those files would be heavily protected.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “They tried to view the file in its entirety,” he said, sounding grim. “It didn’t seem to matter whether the files were related to my research into the Sith or not, or the vision. Any and every file, they tried to grab. Thankfully, Master Tholme is an incredibly  _ paranoid _ sort, and the only copies of those records are kept on one datapad that is never to be connected to the ‘Net and another… record in his office, under Force locks.”

Qui-Gon went perfectly still. “I didn’t realize you report to Master Tholme.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him and then laughed. “Oh, I don’t. I simply… complete assignments, from time to time, that are in line with his work.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said, although he, truthfully, did not. One was either a Shadow, or they were not. Unless, apparently, one was Obi-Wan.

“Do they have any idea as to the culprit?” Yan asked.

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s why Siri came to see me--this is the first chance she’s gotten, since she’s been back. She asked if I might have any idea who in the Temple would want to take a peek at my files. And, for the record, I don’t.” Yan’s eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan shook his head. “I might take a guess or two, but I refuse to allow anything that anyone  _ hasn’t done yet _ to affect my views on them  _ now _ .”

Yan pursed his lips, and then shook his head, sitting back and taking a drink. “I forfeit.” Obi-Wan blinked at him, and Yan gestured to the board with his free hand. “You would have had me in three moves.”

Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head. Qui-Gon gaped at Yan. He  _ never _ yielded, even if he knew he was going to lose--which, in itself, was rare. “Are you feeling alright?”

Yan glanced at him, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Quite, thank you.” Qui-Gon continued to stare at him, and Yan quirked an eyebrow. “Obi-Wan is well acquainted with my strategies already. It does not surprise me that he won.”

Qui-Gon frowned at what he was certain was a reference to that vision. If Yan had been a Sith, and Obi-Wan had been a Jedi…They had referenced a war, and Qui-Gon did not doubt that they had not been on the same side. He shivered and took a large sip of the ale.

“How did the rest of the meeting go today?” Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon shot him a grateful look before replying.

“Well enough, for the most part,” he sighed, sinking back into the couch. He looked to Yan again. “We still disagree on whether the Order should distance itself from the Senate or foster even closer relations, although they do concede that they would need to be more  _ equal _ relations, if we choose not to distance ourselves. Thankfully, we may have several options on that front.”

“Oh?” Yan asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Apparently, when the Republic was founded, the Order received several different offers as they tried to define our role. Initially, it was thought that we might become an independent military force, but that was quickly rejected. The Order was trying to distinguish itself from the Sith, to the galaxy at large, and that would not have been a productive path. The second offer was to hold joint power with the Chancellor, to have a veto even over the Chancellor as well as the Senate, though that was also rejected, to demonstrate that the Order did not seek power, not as the Sith did. They were also offered their own representation in the Senate, though they obviously declined.” Qui-Gon frowned then, looking at Obi-Wan curiously. “You said that someone in the Senate was looking into your file?”

“Yes, according to what Siri told me.”

Qui-Gon hummed thoughtfully. “The Chandrilan representatives have invited their junior Senator, Mon Mothma, to advise us on these issues. They say she is a friend of the Order; perhaps she could help us to get to the bottom of this.”

Qui-Gon had never quite gotten used to the way that Obi-Wan would be fine one moment and radiating that unfathomable  _ grief _ the next. He smiled, though his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Something  _ violet-maroon  _ passed through Qui-Gon’s vision.

“Mon Mothma  _ is _ a true friend to the Order,” Obi-Wan murmured. He swallowed hard and blinked to clear his eyes, regaining his composure. “I’ll relay the information to Siri. Thank you.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and turned the conversation back to lighter topics. “We did make some headway today, at least. It was surprisingly painless to get them to agree that the Rule of One and the age limits were obsolete and harmful rules.”

Obi-Wan stilled, and Qui-Gon smiled sadly. He knew how the age rules had affected Obi-Wan--he had been looked at differently, for having been the Initiate who’d been sent away and then brought back, nevermind the fact that none of the age rules had actually been  _ broken _ in his case. He had been several weeks away from turning thirteen when he was sent to Bandomeer, and Qui-Gon had managed to claim him just before his birthday. Qui-Gon deeply regretted his part in hurting Obi-Wan, fighting against the  _ rightness _ of the match, although he did acknowledge that if Yoda hadn’t forced his hand in such a way, he might never have taken him on. He simply hadn’t been ready--but challenges did not always come when one was  _ ready _ . Here and now, Qui-Gon could only choose to be grateful that the Order had not lost its chance to have Obi-Wan, and that  _ he _ had gotten to have Obi-Wan in his life.

“That will help to combat the problem of our dwindling population, should the Council accept the recommendation,” Yan hummed, bringing him from his thoughts. Qui-Gon nodded.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Yes, hopefully the Council will--” Obi-Wan was interrupted by his own commlink. He unclipped it from his belt, frowning at it deeply. He glanced up at the two Masters and sighed. “My apologies. I need to take this.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan smiled at them and rose, going out to the balcony to take the call; Qui-Gon leaned forward, peering through the glass door, and then sighed in disappointment; it was audio-only, with no hologram for him to catch sight of. He caught sight of Yan raising an eyebrow at him, and he scowled and leaned back again.

They drank in silence. Qui-Gon was certain that Yan, both through the Force and their long familiarity with one another, could sense that he needed a quiet moment just as much as Yan did. Finally, Obi-Wan stepped back inside, looking amused, but also tired, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“Is everything alright?” Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Mostly. That was Shmi. She called to let me know that we have a breach in Temple security, with my file.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “How did she know?”

“Apparently some of her charges managed to slice their way in,” he said, a wry little smile on his face. He shook his head. “But that’s really all I should say about  _ that _ . I do need to warn Siri that there will be evidence of another breach--would you two mind Anakin when he gets out of class, if I’m still out?”

Qui-Gon sighed, but nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

* * *

Anakin didn’t seem surprised to find that Obi-Wan was out when he came home. Qui-Gon looked up from the chess board to smile at him; he had allowed Yan to badger him into a game, knowing that it would distract them both from their heavy thoughts.

“Master Obi-Wan used the bond to tell me he’d be out,” Anakin sighed, and he shook his head. “I thought the whole  _ point _ of being grounded was to spend more time with him.”

Qui-Gon sent him a sympathetic glance, and then huffed as Yan captured one of his rooks. “He should be back soon, with any luck.”

Anakin snorted. “‘There is no luck, or coincidence; only the Force.’”

Qui-Gon chuckled and nodded. “Just so.” He moved a pawn and then patted the couch beside him. “Come, join us.”

Anakin, he found, had a surprisingly good eye for strategy. He quickly caught onto the general rules of the game, and seemed far more interested than Qui-Gon would have thought. Yan, naturally, won the game, and Qui-Gon ceded his place to Anakin, who took to it easily, and with quiet enthusiasm.

Qui-Gon let himself drift in the familiar warmth of the Force imprints on his quarters, listening with half an ear as Yan patiently explained each piece’s role and rules, and Anakin answered with brief exclamations of understanding. They stayed that way for a long while, Anakin surprisingly quiet as they focused on their match, until Obi-Wan reappeared. He looked tired, his eyes stormy. Qui-Gon frowned.

“Hi, Master!” Anakin greeted him brightly, still mostly focused on the game.

“Hello, Padawan. How were your new classes?”

“ _ Jate! _ I’m in the same Mechanics class as Asajj this cycle,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’m glad; perhaps the two of you could start a study group.” Obi-Wan said, a smile on his face.

“How did it go?” Qui-Gon asked vaguely. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Well enough,” he said, and then he looked back to Anakin, smile growing. “Someone is going to have a birthday soon, hmm?” Anakin nodded and finally looked up fully from the board, beginning to smile himself. “I thought we might take a little trip together. To Ilum, perhaps.”

Anakin’s answering smile was wide. “Really? You mean I’m finally going to get to build a  _ lightsaber _ ?”

“Really, and yes,” Obi-Wan answered. “You’re going to get to build a lightsaber.”

Anakin whooped and leapt up, running over to hug Obi-Wan, who simply chuckled and wrapped his arms around the boy. “Thank you!  _ Vor entye! _ ”

“You’re very welcome, dear one.”

* * *

The Committee continued to debate the Code, and the nature of attachment, and what made a Fall, for the next week. Their discussion was far from over after that, however, merely paused in deference to their guest. Mon Mothma was a young woman with fiery red hair that was nearly a match to Obi-Wan’s. Despite her youth, she had a certain knowing quality to her gaze, and a natural air of authority and wisdom. They all bowed to her, and she smiled pleasantly at them.

“Thank you for coming, Senator,” Keetha said. Mon Mothma smiled.

“I am honored to have been invited,” she said. “I understand that you have questions about the Senate, and how you might change your relationship with us.” They nodded, and she paused, her smile turning a bit… sad. Almost wistful. “I believe that strengthening your position among our ranks would be wonderful.” She paused again to sink down into the cushions they had set aside for her, just as they had for Yan. “Now, Mon Tok and Min Mera were kind enough to brief me on what you were looking into. I must say, I don’t think that the veto power or an independent military force would go over very well. But to have your own Senate representation… That may be possible.

“There might be a few avenues you could take to accomplish this,” Mon Mothma continued. “While there has never been a precedent for a religious order being given a place in the Senate, there  _ is _ a precedent for corporations, with the Techno Union, the Banking Clan, and the Trade Federation already having their own representatives among us. It could be argued that a religious order is not so terribly different from a corporation. But it may be easier and more expedient to simply petition the Senate as new planets and systems just entering the Republic do.”

“Forgive me, Senator, but don’t petitioners need to have a planet to claim?” Djinn asked, frowning thoughtfully. Mon Mothma blinked at him.

“The Order already does,” she said. Chirrut hummed and nodded.

“Tython,” he said. “The Order does still technically hold ownership over Tython; under the laws of the Republic, settler claim would apply, if anyone else were to try to colonize the planet, since it’s been so long, but no one has. The Order still holds claim to it by default.”

“That is good to know,” Mon Tok said, smiling at Chirrut. “Thank you.”

“Tython has been abandoned for centuries,” Qui-Gon said slowly. “Aside from a few researchers, there isn’t anyone  _ on _ Tython.”

“That makes little difference,” Mon Mothma said with a shrug. “The Okkosians still have their own representatives, and their homeworld was abandoned after the Cataclysm in ‘32. There is precedent for that, at least.”

“And Tython could be reclaimed,” Van said. “There is nothing  _ wrong _ with the planet; the hyperlanes simply began to bypass it. But the Order could reestablish a presence there easily enough.”

“This is another matter I believe we should simply enter into the brief for the Council,” Qui-Gon said, and then he paused. “And perhaps we should consider separate reports for the other Temples. Even if our Council does not wish to move forward with the idea, the wider Order is still the  _ Jedi Order _ . They have just as much claim to Tython and Senate representation as we would.”

The others nodded, looking pleased. Mon Mothma looked as though she wanted to cry, her eyes wet with a sheen of tears, but a broad smile on her face, something  _ lavender-and-deep-burgundy  _ quivering in the Force. Qui-Gon frowned at the expression, wondering what had inspired such feelings in her.

“There is one other matter I thought Senator Mon Mothma might help us with,” Mon Tok said. “As we all know, most of us, even those of us not from the Coruscant Temple, take missions from the Senate. Very rarely are we asked directly for help. I thought perhaps the Senator might be able to help us form a few ideas for outreach programs, so that the wider galaxy could come to realize that they may reach out to us directly.”

“A fine idea,” Djinn agreed.

Mon Mothma’s smile turned brighter. “I do have a few suggestions, on that front.”

* * *

Mon Mothma’s visit was a welcome break in their debate on the Code. Qui-Gon decided, at the end of many hours in session with her, that he liked her. She was intelligent, and compassionate, and he sensed nothing from her but a genuine desire to help--an almost  _ desperate _ desire to help them. Qui-Gon wondered about the feelings he sensed from her, but did not want to ask such a personal question of one he’d only just met.

At the end of their session, when they began to break up into pairs or trios, off to find their dinner, Mon Mothma approached him.

“Master Jinn,” she said, smiling and nodding deeply to him. He bowed politely. “I was told that I might trouble you for tea, after the meeting.”

Qui-Gon immediately recalled that Obi-Wan had informed Siri of Mon Mothma’s potential to help them, and he nodded. “Of course. We may adjourn to my quarters, if you’d like?” She nodded, and Qui-Gon smiled tightly and led her from the room.

They made their way in silence to their quarters, and Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan was already waiting for them. He sent a wordless question down the bond, and received a vague affirmative. He nodded absently to himself.

As Mon Mothma followed him into their quarters, Qui-Gon frowned thoughtfully at those waiting for them: Mace and Obi-Wan were sitting on the couch, and Siri lounged in one of the armchairs.

“Anakin is still in class?” Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Yan has him. They’re working through a few katas,” he said, and then he rose from the couch to bow to Mon Mothma, Mace and Siri just after him. “It is an honor to meet you, Senator.”

Mon Mothma smiled--it was that same slightly watery expression Qui-Gon had seen before. His frown returned in force.

“And you as well, Master Jedi,” she returned. “Senator Organa speaks highly of you.”

Obi-Wan smiled softly. “He is a kind man; perhaps too kind.”

Mon Mothma laughed. “I doubt that very much. I’ve heard the stories; your reputation does you credit.”

Obi-Wan flushed and Qui-Gon sighed. Feeling the need to intervene, he said, perhaps a bit too loudly and pointedly, “I’ll just make us some tea, then.”

Heading for the kitchen, he kept an ear out, listening intently. Mon Mothma spoke next. “I was told that I might be able to help the Order in some way. It was all very secretive, so I’ve no idea what I might be able to do for you; but whatever it is, I promise that you have my full support.”

“That is greatly appreciated, Senator,” Mace said. “But I will not hold you to that, not until you hear our request. It will not be free of risk to you, and if looked upon in a… certain light, it could even be seen as treason.”

Mon Mothma nodded gravely. “I understand. I’ll hear your request.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon glanced over at them; Mon Mothma had taken his armchair, smiling bemusedly at the bright green pillow. Qui-Gon grinned to himself as he took the boiling water off of the stove.

“Someone in the Senate has been slicing into Temple records,” Siri said bluntly. “Specifically, Obi-Wan’s file. We traced the breach back to a semi-public terminal in the Senate building; if you would agree, we would ask for your help to figure out which one of your colleagues it was.”

Mon Mothma sucked in a breath, looking back to Obi-Wan. “How long has it been? Since the last time the records were accessed?”

Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not entirely certain.” He looked to Siri.

“Two days ago, from the Senate. And about a week ago, from… another source.” Obi-Wan snorted, no doubt thinking of Lady Shmi’s strange call to him. Qui-Gon wondered who her “charges” were.

Mon Mothma frowned. All that was left to finish the tea was to let it steep, and so Qui-Gon turned back to watch them again. “After, then,” Mon Mothma murmured. She shook her head and looked up. “I’m happy to help you. Given your… reputation, do you think they’re after information on the Sith?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. They seemed to look through every file in my records, whether it was relevant to the Sith or not.” Mon Mothma pursed her lips and nodded. Qui-Gon decided that the tea had steeped long enough and poured it carefully, settling the mugs on a tray and carrying it over.

Qui-Gon’s reappearance served to break some of their mounting tension, and Mon Mothma smiled and nodded to him gratefully as she accepted a cup.

“How can I help to find them?” Mon Mothma asked. Siri leaned forward, her tea clasped in both hands. It was good to see her again, Qui-Gon mused idly. She had never much cared for him, but he knew how fond Obi-Wan was of her, and her of him. The idea that she had left the Order had been a painful one for Obi-Wan, he was sure. He frowned and took a sip of his tea to hide the expression, suddenly wondering if it had already happened  _ before _ , if Obi-Wan had already known that she hadn’t truly left the Order, and would one day return to them.

“The public terminals in the Senate are really only semi-public,” Siri said. “You do have to have a Senate access code, or a keycard, to use them. But because there are so many of them, and not enough server space, access logs aren’t kept for long enough. They’re deleted every hour after being scanned by an automated program for any security flags--not that they’re looking for the same ‘security flags’ we would be; and because we don’t have a direct connection to the Senate, by the time we’ve been able to detect  _ and  _ track the breaches…”

“The data has already been deleted,” Mon Mothma finished. Siri nodded.

“I can give you a datachit,” Siri said. “All you would have to do is plug it into any one of the public terminals in the Senate building, and it would upload the program to the server. And all  _ that _ will do is passively send us the access data, which we can then use later on to cross-reference the timestamp of the breach. At least that will narrow it down for us, showing us who was online at the time.”

Mon Mothma nodded. “Of course. That is easy enough to accomplish.” She paused, then, and Qui-Gon felt her  _ shimmering yellow  _ anxiety before it quickly faded. “Why approach me? Convenience?”

“We were told that you were a true friend to the Order,” Qui-Gon answered simply. “You came highly recommended by Mon Tok and Min Mera.” Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, smiling softly. “And Obi-Wan was convinced that you would help us.”

Mon Mothma smiled and nodded to him. Obi-Wan smiled in return and took a sip of tea before answering, “Bail is quite fond of you as well. You are quite remarkable, from what I hear.”

She laughed brightly, shaking her head. “I confess, I am a bit surprised you did not ask him.”

“Ah, that part  _ was _ convenience,” Mace confessed ruefully. “You already had reason to be in the Temple, and we’d rather the culprit not suspect we’re planning something. Otherwise, they may not make another attempt, at least not in the same way.”

Mon Mothma nodded. “In any case, I am glad to be of service. The galaxy needs the Order more than you could ever know, and anything I can do to help you, I will.” She looked so  _ dark maroon-and-purple  _ mournful, and  _ realization  _ hit Qui-Gon.

He recognized the way that she would become inexplicably sad, at times, and tense at things that were entirely innocuous. Qui-Gon recognized it because he had spent the past three years watching Obi-Wan do it, watching Mace do it, watching Yan do it. And it would make a certain amount of sense: the synesthesia only seemed to rear its head these days when something related to that vision of theirs, if he was right.

Qui-Gon did not know how to express his suspicion, and so he simply opened his bond with Obi-Wan fully. Obi-Wan choked on his tea and coughed quietly.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, and then he fixed Mon Mothma with a smile. “Thank you, Senator, for agreeing to help us.” Mon Mothma smiled and nodded. “And may I say, I am truly pleased to finally meet you. With our mutual friend, I suspect we might have sooner or later.”

Mon Mothma snorted. “I’m not certain if you’ve noticed, but Bail doesn’t get out much to socialize these days. I swear he spends all his time on Alderaan or in the Senate, hard at work.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I had noticed that. But I think we may have another friend in common.”

“Oh? Who might that be?” Mon Mothma asked.

“Senator-- _ former  _ Senator--Palpatine.”

Mon Mothma was a politician, and she was a good one, but there was such  _ blood-red-and-charred-black  _ anger and hate and fear the moment that Obi-Wan said the man’s name radiating into the Force from her that no sabbac face, no politician’s poise, would have protected her from anyone with even the most minute touch of the Force.

“He was no friend of mine,” she murmured.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I  _ felt  _ that, what you just felt, and I… I needed a way to… How do you ask someone else if they…?”

“If they died and woke up in the past?” Mon Mothma finished. She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, little gods, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell the Order for  _ years _ .” She paused, looking around at the rest of them. “How many of you…?”

“There were six of us,” Mace said. “But Master Sifo-Dyas was among them.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t be discussing this so openly, and you need to keep up appearances, and get back to the Senate. Siri, get the datachit and an unregistered comm. We’ll contact you later on to set a meeting.”

Mon Mothma nodded. She looked… stunned. Qui-Gon felt a flash of sympathy for her; whatever future they had all seen, it had been terrible, he knew that much. At least the Jedi affected had had one another; Mon Mothma had suffered with this  _ alone _ for years.

“Of course,” she said, and then she laughed again. She looked at Obi-Wan. “For the record, of anyone I could be in this mess with, I’m glad it’s you, General Kenobi.”

And Qui-Gon did not quite know what name the color he saw would go by. It was dark, and muddled, somewhere between  _ violet-purple  _ and  _ cerulean blue  _ mixed with veins of  _ deepest black,  _ but shimmering, and bright as it curled around his vision. It was rather pretty, he thought, almost like looking at a nebula, though it was vastly overshadowed by the sudden  _ whoosh _ of air from his lungs, the buzzing in his mind.

**_General_ ** _ Kenobi _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer the question that someone asked several chapters ago... no, it's not just Jedi who time traveled! We're picking up steam on the plot, and we will start to get some answers very soon, I promise!
> 
> EDIT: I've seen the question a lot in the comments, and I know this is... gargantuan, and hard to keep track of, so here's a list of everyone who's time traveled that we know of so far:  
> Obi-Wan  
> Mace  
> Sifo-Dyas  
> Yan  
> Nuhunarla (the krayt dragon, back in chapter 3)  
> Mon Mothma
> 
> We've confirmed that 2 other Jedi time traveled, but not their identities yet. That's all that's CONFIRMED so far. :)
> 
> And we will find out what Obi-Wan remembers, I promise! But... it won't be soon. At all.


	15. Asajj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a few hours late! Working so much finally took a toll on me, and now I'm sick. (It's definitely not COVID, though, so that's something!) I'll be crawling back into bed as soon as I hit post, but I wanted to make sure I stuck to the update schedule as promised! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ner gai: My name (is)  
> Burc'ya be te ner burc'ya: Friend of my friend  
> Haat: True  
> Vor'e: Thanks

Asajj found Siri Tachi… interesting. She didn’t  _ feel _ like other Jedi, so warm and bright and almost overwhelming at times. She was… cooler. Her light was suffused with threads of Darkness, but they all pressed in from without-- _ Tachi  _ wasn’t Dark, but she’d touched the Darkness. More than once.

Frankly, she felt like Master Yan, though he was even cooler in the Force than Tachi was. Asajj knew he was a Shadow, though such things were never spoken of openly. Master Ky had explained their role and structure to her; he seemed convinced that she was likely to be approached by them, as she grew closer to her Knighthood. And  _ that _ was a problem in and of itself--Master Ky spoke as though her Knighting would be  _ soon _ . But Asajj knew she wasn’t ready. Still, she never contradicted him, only nodding and locking the  _ panic _ she felt at the thought of leaving her Master’s side so soon away where he wouldn’t feel it.

Asajj shook herself from her thoughts and continued watching. Tachi was sitting on a hill in the Room of a Thousand Fountains; she’d been meditating, and Asajj had remained hidden in the tree branches nearby, waiting for her to finish. She didn’t want to be  _ rude _ to someone whose help she needed, and she knew how snippy Jedi got when you interrupted their meditation. Finally, Tachi sighed and opened her eyes, tilting her head from one side to the other to stretch her neck. Asajj leapt down, and Tachi blinked at her.

“Hello, Padawan,” Tachi said. Asajj bowed, and Tachi nodded, waving a hand. “Sit down.” Tachi waited until she was settled in front of her, her legs folded beneath her. “Now, wanna tell me why you were watching me?”

Asajj scowled and ducked her head. “I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

“About…?” Tachi prompted, raising an eyebrow as Asajj looked up.

“You’re a Shadow, aren’t you?” Tachi stilled, frowning. “It  _ feels _ like you are. And it fits with your need for a cover story, leaving the Temple the way you did, and then returning as though nothing had happened. That  _ sounds _ like Shadow work.”

Tachi stared at her for a moment longer and then laughed, shaking her head. “You aren’t wrong; that does  _ sound _ like Shadow work. What did you need to speak to me about?”

Asajj took a deep breath. “My Master seems convinced that I’m meant to be a Shadow,” she began, “but he isn’t one himself. The only other Shadow I know of is Master Yan, and he… He’s a bit…”

“A bit of a dick,” Tachi muttered under her breath, and Asajj barked a startled laugh. Tachi’s lips twitched in a rueful smile, and she gestured for Asajj to continue.

“He won’t teach me anything, or tell me what it is that Shadows really  _ do _ . I just… I’d like to know what I would actually need to  _ learn _ to become a Shadow, but there’s no one to tell me,” Asajj said slowly. “So I found another Shadow--” She gestured to Tachi. “--to ask.”

Tachi tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed slightly as she peered at Asajj. Finally, she smiled and nodded. “You have the potential to be a Shadow,” she confirmed. “And recognizing each other is one of the very first tests a Shadow faces. You’ve done well at that, at least.”

“So you  _ are _ a Shadow.”

“I am,” Tachi confirmed. “I’m not…  _ opposed _ to helping you, but we’ll need the approval of the Master of Shadows, first.”

Asajj frowned. “Who is that?” Tachi hesitated. “Could I speak to them myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Tachi said slowly. “Master Tholme keeps his office in O-block, on level 117. It’s an unmarked room, between the supply closet and the meditation room.” Asajj nodded slowly. “He should be there now.”

Asajj scowled again. “I’m supposed to meet my Master for ‘saber practice,” she sighed, and then bit her lip. “I’m already running late as it is. How much longer will he be there today?”

“Usually until about an hour after dinner. Don’t worry, kid. You’ve got time.”

“I’m not a  _ child _ ,” Asajj snapped. “I’m nearly eighteen.”

Tachi laughed and held up both hands. “No offense meant. Now, you’d better get going. Shouldn’t keep your Master waiting.”

Asajj nodded and rolled gracefully to her feet, pausing to bow to Tachi. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Padawan.”

Asajj turned away and smirked to herself. That had been  _ precisely _ what she needed to know. If there was one thing that Asajj had learned since coming to the Temple, it was that all of them seemed to be entirely too  _ trusting _ .

* * *

The Temple felt so…  _ peaceful _ at night. It was still strange, even after the better part of three years there. Asajj still wasn’t used to being able to sleep soundly--it was long-ingrained habit to keep half an ear out for any sign of trouble, her Force senses always somewhat extended as she searched for the faintest hint of an enemy nearby.

Master Ky had no such trouble. Asajj only had to wait twenty minutes, after he’d retired for the evening, and then a quick check of the bond assured her that he was deeply asleep--not even her careful prodding at his presence had woken him. Nodding to herself, Asajj pulled on her cloak and drew up the hood. She checked the chrono and grinned; yes, this should be late enough. She closed her eyes and opened herself to the Force, and the Jedi around them, receiving the warm, calm, steady  _ thrum _ of sleeping minds.

It was time, then.

She slipped out of their quarters and made her way to level 117. It would be a bit of a hassle, but she  _ knew _ the best way of getting there. Sighing to herself, Asajj used the Force to open one of the air vents and hopped up, climbing in carefully and replacing the grate. Even though she was tall, she was lucky she was still rather gangly, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to fit in the air ducts like this. Slowly, she began to crawl her way forward.

It was a straight shot--mostly, anyway--from the duct near the lift she’d taken to get up here. Asajj came to a junction, and paused, trying to sit back; the duct wasn’t tall enough. Scowling, she rolled over onto her back and drew her maps out of her pocket. They were the same maps that Anakin had initially given her, all those years ago, when she’d first arrived. Over time, Asajj, Sian, and Anakin had all added to them, filling in the ventilation systems, the secret passages, and the lower levels, making a near-complete schematic of the Temple for themselves, and they all had a copy, and updated all of them when one found something new. Asajj had to bring the flimsi close to her face to peer at it in the dark of the shaft, but finally found which way she was meant to go. She replaced the maps, rolled over, and turned to the right.

Slowly but surely, she made her way through the duct, and finally,  _ finally _ , she reached the right place. Asajj closed her eyes and reached out with the Force, grinning to herself as she felt no life inside. As quietly as she could, she lifted the vent, and dropped down, landing almost silently in the room.

Tholme’s office was… boring, on the surface. There was a large wooden desk with a comfortable, high-backed chair, and two chairs in front of it. On the wall was a painting of the Sacking of Coruscant--a strange choice, for a Jedi, Asajj thought. But then this  _ was _ the Master of Shadows. If he was sitting in the chair, he would be staring straight at that painting. Perhaps the reminder of that dark time for them reminded him why he chose the work he did.

Asajj scowled and mentally berated herself for becoming distracted. She couldn’t afford that, not now. She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out her lockpicking set. Approaching the filing cabinets on the other side of the room from the painting, behind the desk, she looked for the keyhole, and frowned when she didn’t see one. Scowling, she realized it must open with the Force.

Slowly, she closed her eyes, reaching for the Force. It directed her quickly to the cabinet she needed, and she put her hands on it,  _ feeling _ it in the Force. She found the locking mechanism and  _ pushed _ . Nothing happened. Asajj frowned, and tried  _ pulling _ . Still, there was nothing. She sighed and shook her head, frowning thoughtfully at it.

This was going to take a bit more work than she’d thought.

* * *

It was nearly dawn, and Asajj  _ still _ hadn’t managed to open the filing cabinet. She was growing  _ frustrated _ , and  _ worried _ . She knew she couldn’t be caught here; she was starting to think she might have to come back another time to try again. At least she knew her way here, now.

Scowling to herself, Asajj closed her eyes and  _ pushed _ , much harder than she had before, at the cabinet. The entire thing rocked back and forth, but did not open. She felt a pulse of irrational  _ anger _ at the cabinet, and  _ smacked _ it with her palm, growling low. She blinked as she heard a  _ click _ . Cautiously, she tried the handle, and the drawer slid open. Asajj stared down into the drawer. There was only a single box, neatly labelled: KENOBI.

Grinning to herself, she lifted the lid of the box, and frowned at the strange shape resting inside. It was a metal ball, a dodecahedron, and Asajj hissed as she realized what it was. This was a  _ holocron _ .

Suddenly, the room began to lighten as the Temple’s artificial dawn lighting cycle began, and Asajj swore under her breath. Not good--she couldn’t be caught here. Quickly, she took the holocron and stuffed it into the pocket of her robe. She replaced the lid of the box, slid the drawer shut, and hopped back up into the vent.

It occurred to Asajj, halfway back to her quarters, that she had no idea how a holocron  _ worked _ , or what to do with it. She scowled to herself and decided that was a problem for another day.

* * *

“You seem tired, Padawan,” Master Ky said over breakfast. Asajj shrugged, pushing her eggs around on her plate. “Didn’t sleep well?”

She shrugged. “Apparently not.”

Master Ky hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose we could skip our afternoon meditation, if you’d rather rest. Yan asked to have tea with me.”

Asajj smiled gratefully, inwardly smirking again. “Thank you, Master.”

Master Ky smiled back softly. “Finish your breakfast. You’re about to hit another growth spurt--your last, with any luck. It wouldn’t do for my Padawan to become taller than I am.”

Asajj gave him a light glare that clearly said,  _ could you not?  _ Master Ky snickered and turned back to his own breakfast. She slowly began to eat, the next stage of her plan forming.

She couldn’t go to the Archives for information on holocrons, she knew that much. There was no way she’d be able to get to anything useful without a  _ ridiculous _ amount of slicing or the help of Master Nu, and she couldn’t very well  _ ask _ anyone--

Or could she?

* * *

Asajj knew where the Committee was holding their sessions-- _ everyone _ did. It wasn’t as if their work was a  _ secret _ , and besides, the younglings in the creche had gone from gifting their art to the Jedi who visited to knocking on the conference room door to hand-deliver the paintings under the watchful and amused gazes of their creche Masters. It was easy for Asajj to find the right room--she only had to follow the younglings.

She leaned against the wall, folding her arms over her chest, scowling as she tried to ignore the excited chattering of the dozen or so children around her. She hoped that she would be done in time to get back to her quarters before Master Ky was finished having tea with Master Yan, so she could at least put up the appearance of having taken a nap.

“Hi!” Asajj blinked as she realized she was being addressed, and looked down. A small Togruta girl was looking up at her, holding a painting in each hand.

“Hello,” Asajj said, mindful of the fact that a Master was standing nearby, a black-and-grey Wookie woman with a sash and a youngling hanging off each leg, another in her arms. She had to play nice; Asajj resisted the urge to sigh.

“ _ Ner gai  _ Ahsoka!” the Togruta declared. Asajj blinked at her and then nodded slowly.

“ _ Ner gai  _ Asajj,” she answered. “You speak Mando’a?”

“Uh-huh! Obi and Sky teachin’ me how!” Ahsoka said proudly. Kenobi and Anakin, Asajj realized.

“Anakin’s teaching me, too,” Asajj said. Ahsoka grinned at her delightedly.

“ _ Burc’ya be te ner burc’ya! _ ” Ahsoka declared. Asajj laughed.

“ _ Haat. _ ”

“You didn’ bring any art,” Ahsoka said with a frown. Asajj shook her head.

“I’m here to see someone specific, not help them decorate.”

“Oh. Can I wait wi’ you?” Ahsoka asked. Asajj shrugged.

“Sure.”

“ _ Vor’e! _ ” Ahsoka plopped herself unceremoniously on the floor, though she put her colorful drawings carefully down on the stone face-up. She looked up expectantly at Asajj, and then she quirked an eyebrow  _ just so _ , and Asajj laughed. She had  _ definitely  _ gotten that one from Kenobi. Slowly, Asajj sat, and Ahsoka smiled broadly. “Wanna play lift-feather?”

Asajj raised an eyebrow herself then. “Do you have a feather?”

Ahsoka nodded eagerly and reached into the pocket of her tunic. Sure enough, she pulled out a feather, slightly crushed from having been in her pocket. “I always got a feather! In case anyone wants t’ play; Obi says it’s good t’ be ready.”

Asajj cracked a smile in spite of herself, and motioned for Ahsoka to do the honors.

* * *

She would never admit it, but Asajj found she didn’t mind Ahsoka. The little girl didn’t blather on endlessly, and she was fairly proficient in lift-feather already, so it wasn’t a debacle. And the favor Asajj thought she might’ve curried with the Wookie Master watching over them by playing with the youngling couldn’t hurt; the woman gave a soft roar and an approving nod when she saw them.

It took a little over an hour for the doors to open, and immediately, the younglings began to push their way inside. Ahsoka unceremoniously let the feather drop, grabbing it and stuffing it into her pocket before carefully picking up her drawings. She bowed clumsily to Asajj.

“ _ Vor’e! _ ” Before Asajj could reply, Ahsoka toddled off after the other younglings. Asajj shook her head and followed them.

Inside, she blinked at the conference room: two of the walls were absolutely  _ covered _ in the younglings’ art already, and a third had already begun to be filled, and the conference table had been pushed aside--and there were  _ plants _ all over it; Master Jinn’s work, if Asajj had to guess; the chairs had also been pushed against the walls in favor of cushions spread out over the floor. The younglings were grouped around the Masters, excitedly and proudly handing them the newest batch of works. The Masters  _ ooh _ ’d and  _ ah _ ’d over each one, and Asajj resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She scanned the room and immediately found the men she’d come to see.

She quickly strode over to them, the only two who clearly weren’t Jedi, and were thus far unaccosted by the younglings--probably because one of them was blind, and therefore would likely have little to say about their art. Asajj bowed to them politely; they both bowed back.

“I’m Asajj Ventress, Master Ky Narec’s Padawan. Masters, if I may--”

“Master? I’m no Master, child. Call me Chirrut, or Guardian, if you truly feel the need for a title,” the blind man said. Asajj nodded slowly, gritting her teeth at being called a  _ child _ , but not commenting on it.

“Thank you, Chirrut,” she said. “I thought I might ask the two of you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Regarding what?” the other man asked. “Name’s Baze, by the way.”

Asajj nodded. “Well, Baze, Chirrut: I know that there is much knowledge that the Temple of the Kyber has that the Order doesn’t keep here, and I had heard that you were quite scholarly. I’m… curious.”

Baze chuckled. “That’d be Chirrut you want, then.”

“I would be honored to share what I can,” Chirrut said, nodding deeply. “Shall we find somewhere… quieter?”

Asajj snorted, glancing at the younglings still chattering excitedly at the indulgent Masters. “I know just the place.”

* * *

Once they had settled themselves in one of the smaller meditation rooms on the same level--a pretty room, and peaceful, with cushions and benches and a small recirculating waterfall in the center of the room--Chirrut fixed her with a strange look. She  _ felt _ like he could see right through her, although the idea was ridiculous, as he couldn’t see  _ at all. _

“Now, Asajj, what would you like to ask us about?” Chirrut asked.

Asajj took a deep breath. “Does the Temple of the Kyber keep any holocrons?”

Chirrut frowned at her. “Holocrons? Aren’t you a bit young to be poking at holocrons?”

“I am  _ not _ ,” Asajj huffed. She had hoped that they would be as trusting and, frankly, naive as most of the Jedi seemed to be, but luck wasn’t on her side on that front. Most Masters, Asajj thought, would answer the question, and  _ then _ ask why she had posed it. Thinking quickly, she said, “I’m nearly eighteen. I’m going to be Knighted in a few years, and my Master thinks I should begin training as a Shadow. Now I’m… researching a particular holocron, and holocrons in general. But… I haven’t gotten past the first step, yet. I haven’t even been able to  _ open _ it.”

There. Everything she’d said had been true, if only  _ technically _ true. But it would be enough, if they were using the Force to gauge her truthfulness, to make them  _ believe  _ it.

Finally, Chirrut laughed and shook his head. “And you’re too proud to admit to your Master that you need more time, or help?”

Asajj scowled and ducked her head. In the corner sprawled on one of the benches and looking down at them on their cushions, Baze huffed a laugh. She looked up and glared at him. “Something like that,” Asajj finally muttered.

Chirrut sighed. “Alright. I’ll tell you,  _ generally _ , what you need to know. Although holocrons can differ in their construction, and what is needed to open them.”

“How so?” Asajj asked, frowning.

“Well, the only thing they  _ all _ have in common is that they can only be opened by using the Force,” Chirrut began. “Some require that all of the edges be turned at once, and some require that only one specific edge is turned. Some are… trickier than that. And Sith holocrons…” The hint of a smile that had graced Chirrut’s face disappeared. “They usually require the use of the Dark Side of the Force to open, or commands in one of the Sith languages.”

“I see,” Asajj said slowly. “You don’t have to worry; it’s not a Sith holocron I’m… working on.”

Chirrut nodded, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Good. There are Masters who would rightly fear to trifle with such things, and you are a Padawan yet.” He paused. “Is it a Jedi holocron?”

Asajj frowned. “Yes. But--others made holocrons? Besides the Jedi and the Sith?”

“Of course,” Chirrut said. “When Force-use was more common throughout the galaxy, before the last of the Wars, many were made. Some contain information or recorded messages, and others are imprints.”

“Imprints?”

“Of the Force-sensitives who made them,” Chirrut said, nodding. “It’s almost as if you were speaking to the actual  _ person _ who imprinted on the holocron. They can carry on conversations, and recognize different people.”

“Oh,” Asajj breathed. “That’s… I think I understand my… assignment, now.”

Chirrut laughed. “I would’ve hoped you’d have understood it from the beginning, Padawan.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think the holocron I have is an imprint, and there’s something I need to learn from the person who made it. Thank you, Chirrut.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, smiling. “Tell me how it goes, won’t you? Opening a new holocron is like… a puzzle box solved with the Force. It’s always exciting to get it right.”

Asajj nodded, smiling in excitement now, too. “I will.” She rose and bowed, and then turned and bowed to Baze, who lazily waved at her.

“I think we’ll stay here a bit, and meditate,” Chirrut said. “This fountain has a pleasing sound.”

Asajj smiled and bowed once more before leaving the room. She glanced at her chrono; she had perhaps two more hours before Master Ky would be back in their quarters. She hoped it would be enough time.

She quickly made her way down to the lower levels, taking out her map and frowning at it in the flickering light. Nodding to herself, Asajj headed deeper into the lower levels; it was… nice, down here. It was quiet, and the Force felt…  _ alive _ , almost. Asajj appreciated the lack of other people when she was down here; she had come to… appreciate certain aspects of the Temple, but there were still too many times when the sheer  _ number _ of other Force-sensitives around her was just too much.

Finally, she reached the room where she had left the holocron, and pried the top off of the broken down mouse droid she’d stashed it in. Sitting down on the floor, heedless of the dust she kicked up around her in her excitement, Asajj set the holocron down in front of her and closed her eyes, resting her hands palm-up on her knees.

In, out, in, out; she breathed deeply, ignoring the tickle in the back of her throat from the dust, and sought the Force. It answered quickly, as it always did, wrapping around her. She turned her focus to the holocron in front of her, studying it through the Force.

What would Kenobi require of her to open his holocron? She pondered the man: he was… so  _ good _ . He was a blinding Light in the Force--not in the same way Anakin was, though. Anakin was so bright just for the fact of his sheer  _ power _ . Kenobi was so bright because the Light Side of the Force seemed to…  _ love  _ him.

That was a good start, Asajj thought. So, Kenobi was  _ good _ . But what else? He was also… surprisingly emotional, for a Jedi. She could feel it coming off of him in waves, sometimes, all the  _ grief and joy and hope and sadness _ that he carried around with him. And he was passionate--he had to be, to become a Mandalorian. Especially a Mandalorian  _ Jedi _ .

Asajj felt as though a lightbulb suddenly flicked on. Kenobi was  _ passionate _ , and he  _ felt _ things deeply. She knew how emotions could be channeled through the Force--both Dark and Light emotions, channeling both sides of the Force. Maybe she had to channel a particular  _ emotion _ to open the holocron. The Force seemed to agree with that thought, a whisper of _ rightness  _ about it.

It was worth a try, she decided.

Right. Kenobi was a good, passionate man who felt things deeply, she’d gotten that far. What was he passionate  _ about _ ?

Anakin, she immediately thought. He was passionate about training Anakin--he  _ loved _ him. Kenobi loved lots of people--his “Jedi family,” he called them. His  _ aliit _ .

Love. She needed to channel love. Asajj thought about Master Ky. He may have been a Jedi, sworn against attachments, but… he may as well have been her father. And she knew that he looked at her as a daughter--she’d been in his  _ mind _ for several years, their strong bond tying them together, and he’d  _ raised  _ her. He couldn’t lie to her, or hide how he felt about her, for all that he’d never  _ said  _ it.

And… Sian. The girl was a spitfire, that was for sure. Asajj admired her spirit from the start, and she was so  _ smart _ , and even though theirs was an unlikely friendship, Asajj had come to… well, she loved her like Sian was her little sister.

Then there was Anakin. The kid was… infuriating, sometimes. He was, in turns, boastfully arrogant and riddled by self-doubt; he was so powerful he didn’t know what to do with himself, and things that Asajj  _ still  _ struggled with often came to him easily; he was so  _ childish _ sometimes. But just as Sian was her little sister, Anakin was like her little brother. She loved him--she  _ must  _ love him, to be doing  _ this _ .

Asajj cracked one eye open and sighed: the holocron remained sealed and still before her. She scowled and closed her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t the answer, and it wasn’t  _ emotion  _ that would open the holocron at all. But, the more logical part of her acknowledged, trying  _ one _ emotion wasn’t a representative enough sample size to discard the idea, yet. She had to try another. The Force whispered encouragement.

She thought about what she felt from Kenobi so often: that  _ grief _ . But no, she realized, that wouldn’t be the answer if it was an emotion. Grief was too close to the Darkness, and Kenobi would  _ never _ force someone to channel that to open his holocron. The same was true of sadness.

Joy, maybe? Asajj thought about the joy she had felt for her Master when they realized that Kenobi was going to bring them back to the Temple. She channeled the joy she felt when he’d been released from the Halls of Healing,  _ finally _ recovering from the injuries he’d received that had crippled him for far too long. Asajj remembered how she’d felt the first time her Master had told her she was becoming a wonderful Jedi.

Asajj peeked again, but the holocron remained inert. She sighed and shook her head, closing her eyes again. What did that leave?

**_Hope_ ** , something whispered. The Force itself, perhaps. Asajj nodded slowly to herself. Hope.

She had felt so much  _ hope _ when Master Ky had found her, still kneeling beside her dead  _ owner’s _ body. Asajj had felt hope when she had meditated that final time with her Master on Rattatak, and Kenobi had reached out to them.

And she still felt hope. She felt hope that, one day, she could do as Kenobi had told her to, and become the Jedi Knight who  _ would _ return to Rattatak, to free its people--

“Hello, my darling.”

Asajj’s eyes flew open, and she stared at the holocron. It was open, now, and it was  _ glowing _ , a blue image of Kenobi projected atop it. It looked just like him, if a bit older, somehow, and this version was still wearing Jedi tunics. She idly wondered how long ago he’d made it, not to be wearing his armor. Not recently, that much was certain.

Then it registered what he’d called her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Hello.”

Now that she’d  _ done it _ , Asajj had no idea what to do next. Would he just…  _ tell her _ what she wanted to know, if she asked?

“You look different,” he said. She blinked at him, and he smiled, and gestured to his own hair. “You shaved your head, last I saw you.”

Asajj blinked. “When was the last time you saw me?”

Kenobi frowned thoughtfully, reaching up to stroke his beard with one hand, the other crossing his body to clasp the other elbow. “Hmm. After you left Tyranus’s service, but before the mission with Quinlan, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

Kenobi sighed and nodded. “Yes. Quinlan was… devastated when you died.”

Asajj frowned, a shiver running down her spine. She wasn’t exactly  _ afraid _ to die--how could she be? She’d seen too much death already in her short life, and she knew that it came for them all, in the end. But even so, hearing about her own death was… eerie.

She focused on the other part of what he’d said. “Knight Vos?”

Kenobi smiled softly, but he looked sad, as his real self so often did. “Yes. He loved you more than he could ever express. More than a Jedi ever should, certainly.”

Asajj’s eyes went wide. “...oh.” She shook her head; this wasn’t what she’d come to talk about. “Are you… the imprint of Kenobi’s vision?”

Kenobi hummed. “From a certain point of view,” he said. “But it was no mere ‘vision.’ We were… sent back in time. Reincarnated, really. A gift from the Force, I believe. But yes; I decided to pour all of the knowledge I gained in that past life into this holocron. I have the longest memory of any of us who were returned, you see, and I wanted that knowledge to be available if anything were ever to happen to me before the time came for such knowledge to be needed.” He looked at her seriously. “Is it time, now?”

Asajj nodded immediately. “Yes. I need to know what happened... then.”

Kenobi nodded slowly, and then smiled, but the expression seemed forced. “It’s a good thing you’re already sitting down. Very well: I will start at the beginning. In 968 ARR, my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and I were sent to the Naboo system to negotiate a treaty with the invading Trade Federation…”

* * *

Asajj felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her entire chest ached from the pain in her heart, and her eyes were puffy and they stung from the tears she’d shed, and she was shaking terribly. The holocron had long since gone quiet and sealed itself again, Kenobi’s imprint giving her one last, lingering, sympathetic look before winking out.

She had no idea how long she’d sat there, curled in on herself, when she heard footsteps. She  _ knew _ if anyone found her, she would be in  _ so much trouble _ , but… Asajj couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Padawan Ventress, are you down here?” She shuddered at the sound of Kenobi’s voice--although she was glad, in a way, that it was him who would be the one to find her. She knew she wouldn’t have to  _ explain  _ herself to him. He rounded the corner and stopped short, staring at her. He was wearing his armor, his  _ full _ armor, and she idly thought it would be useful to have that night vision down here. She  _ knew _ what Master Yoda always said--“Need eyes to see, need candles to see, we do not. Luminous beings, we are; Light enough for the Dark, the Force allows us to become.” Cryptic little troll, that one. But even so, Asajj  _ preferred  _ to be able to use her eyes, and even though she had better night vision than humans did--and what  _ was she _ , anyway? She’d never really known, although Kenobi had mentioned something about a “tribe of witches.” Did it really matter?

“Are you alright?” Kenobi asked, crouching down beside her as he removed his helmet and pulling her from her panicked, irrelevant train of thought. Asajj looked at him, and shook her head.

“Of course I’m not,” she whispered, and gestured to the holocron. Kenobi sighed and sat down on the floor beside her. “How do you… You actually  _ lived through that _ . I just  _ heard about it _ , and I’m--” She cut herself off with a shuddering sob, though it was dry. Asajj had long since cried herself out.

Kenobi sighed again. “I won’t let it happen,” he said, and then he paused. “Well, I won’t let it happen the same  _ way _ . Some things seem to be inevitable.”

“Naboo left the Republic,” Asajj whispered, thinking of the massive war that that almost certainly signalled was coming. She shivered.

“They did,” Kenobi agreed softly. He looked at her for a moment. “Asajj… why? Why did you take the holocron?”

“I just… needed to know what you Saw.”

“Why?” he asked again. “Did someone ask you to do this?”

“ _ No _ ,” Asajj growled immediately, and then she sighed and shook her head. “No. I’m not… I’m not working with  _ Sidious _ . Or… Tyranus.” She wished, in that moment, that Kenobi’s holocron had seen fit to tell her who those two  _ were _ . And  _ Vader _ \--who had been Obi-Wan’s Fallen student, in that Other-When? She wanted nothing more than to find the Sith and strike them all down before they had a chance to-- She took a deep breath. “I haven’t Fallen, and I’m not being manipulated. I’m no one’s  _ pawn _ .”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “I’m glad. But you still haven’t answered my question:  _ why? _ ”

“I just wanted to help,” Asajj said, ashamed of the way her voice broke. She drew herself into a tight ball, hugging her legs and resting her forehead on her knees. “I thought… I’ve seen how you get. And how crazy Anakin makes himself, worrying about you, and whatever it was that happened to you. And Master Jinn, and all of your friends. And I’ve heard how Master Jinn says something this important shouldn’t be kept a secret. I just thought… I thought if you could talk about it with other people, things would… get better. For everyone. But I knew you would never go against the Council and just tell us, so I… I had to find out another way. And I… I just  _ hated _ not knowing. Forewarned is forearmed.”

Kenobi was silent and still for a long moment, and then he  _ laughed _ . “Well, your intentions were good, at least. Kind.” He paused briefly. “You were the one slicing into my file as well, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Kenobi sighed heavily. “You knew that you wouldn’t get away with this, didn’t you?”

Asajj finally looked back up at him, scowling. “I wasn’t  _ trying to!  _ Once I’d found out what I needed to know, I was planning on telling  _ everyone _ .” She shook her head. “I can see now that that… isn’t a good idea.”

“No,” Kenobi agreed softly. “It isn’t time, yet.”

They lapsed into silence, and then Asajj sighed. “How’d you find me?”

“I had a hunch,” Kenobi said. “And we’ve all been looking for you, Asajj. You were supposed to meet Ky in your quarters  _ yesterday _ . It’s been over fourteen hours.”

Asajj blinked. “...oh.”

Kenobi snorted and shook his head. “Yes. ‘Oh.’” He sighed and rose to his feet. “Come on, then. We’d best give the holocron to Master Tholme, and get you back to your Master before he panics any further.”

Asajj’s heart seized again. Master Ky. She couldn’t face him, not  _ now _ , not when she knew what his death would do to her, and how  _ ashamed _ she was sure he would be to know what some version of her, in some other time, had  _ done _ , how she had abandoned his teachings, what she  _ knew _ she was capable of doing again--

“Asajj,” Kenobi said softly, crouching back down and laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“But I can  _ feel it _ ,” she said. “I… I  _ love him _ . He’s my--he’s my  _ father _ . If he  _ dies _ , I don’t… I don’t know how I could…”

“With the love, support, and  _ hope _ of those around you,” Kenobi answered softly, gently, “we can endure things we never thought we could. Things we could never endure on our own. Even in my exile, on Tatooine, I had Luke, and I had Qui-Gon--in spirit, at least. Why do you think I brought you and your Master back to the Temple?”

“To save his life, and keep me from Falling, and  _ torturing you _ ,” Asajj said. It was Kenobi’s turn to flinch, then, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

“Well, yes, but that is a rather… reductive way of describing my thought process,” he sniffed. Asajj rolled her eyes to herself. “I wanted you to know the life of a Jedi. I wanted you to know the Temple, to form relationships with us, to feel the  _ Light _ . Those bonds are what make the Order what it is, and you were always meant to be a part of it. I knew it from the moment we met, even if we were on the battlefield. I could sense it. And you proved me right: you left Tyranus’s service, and you helped Ahsoka, and you turned back to the Light. You died trying to help us defeat a Sith Lord. Asajj, in every way that truly counts, even that other version of you was a Jedi, at your core. I only meant to give you the opportunity to  _ be _ a Jedi from the start.”

Asajj… couldn’t really accept that, not yet. She couldn’t reconcile the  _ her _ that had tortured Kenobi and killed Jedi with the person she was right now, and it had caused her to begin  _ doubting _ herself in ways she never really had before, but… She did feel a bit better.

Looking up, she gave him a tight smile and nodded. He smiled and nodded in turn, and then climbed to his feet and held out one arm, helping her up. He looked pointedly at the holocron, and she flushed, but bent down to pick it up, handing it to him.

“Thank you,” Asajj whispered. “For… trusting me.”

One of Kenobi’s hands came up to squeeze her shoulder gently. “Here and now, you  _ are _ a different person. And we must always have  _ hope _ . I  _ hope _ that you will continue on the path of the Jedi.”

Asajj swallowed hard. “I hope so, too.”

Kenobi squeezed her shoulder once more, and then his hand dropped. He grabbed his helmet in one hand, the holocron still held tightly in the other, and together, they began the trek back to the Temple proper.

* * *

Asajj was no stranger to feeling  _ guilty _ . She’d had a constant, low-level  _ heaviness _ in her stomach since she’d left Rattatak without fulfilling her promise. But she also felt guilty for  _ feeling _ guilty, because she knew that Kenobi had been right, when he’d said that Master Ky didn’t have much time left if they stayed. She felt guilty for  _ wanting  _ to stay, despite the fact that it would have killed her Master--though she  _ was _ glad that he had improved, after the Temple Healers’ careful treatments. But that didn’t lessen the  _ guilt _ .

Guilt was a constant companion for her, and she had become quite an expert in keeping that feeling  _ hidden _ . Master Ky had praised her often, when they first returned, on her improving shielding techniques. He never realized that the reason she had worked so hard to improve her shields was to hide her  _ guilt _ from him--she didn’t want to make  _ him _ feel bad. Asajj knew how much it meant to her Master, getting to rejoin the Temple, regaining his strength, taking regular missions again, watching her walk the path normal Jedi were meant to take. She didn’t want to detract from his happiness, and so she built up durasteel walls around herself, high and impenetrable, and shoved the guilt down behind them.

To add one more thing she felt  _ guilty _ for had seemed, at the time, to be less than nothing. Asajj had learned that the  _ right thing _ was not always straightforward, it would not always be universally praised or even accepted--and she genuinely felt as though she was doing the  _ right thing _ , looking into the visions and taking the holocron.

Well, she  _ had _ , until now. Sitting across the desk from Master Tholme--an imposing figure, with a wicked scar across his face and one blind eye, hands clasped together and resting on his desk as he stared at her--Asajj started to feel so  _ guilty _ for having done it at all.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” Master Tholme said evenly, and Asajj grimaced, but nodded. “You’re surprisingly skilled, for one your age.”

Asajj blinked at him. “Thank you?”

Master Tholme nodded, and then sat back in his chair, peering at her thoughtfully. “My first question should be obvious:  _ why _ ? Why slice into the Temple’s systems to try to view Knight Kenobi’s records? Why take the holocron?”

Asajj shifted and scowled, looking down at her hands, folded in her lap. “It… seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Master Tholme repeated--not gently, but not harshly, either. Merely questioning.

“Anakin’s been worried about him,” Asajj said slowly. “I know that the Council decided to keep the visions secret, but it’s  _ hurting _ Kenobi. But even though it’s hurting him, he would never go against a direct order from the Council.” Master Tholme snorted, as though that were somehow funny, but Asajj barreled on, knowing that if she stopped speaking now, she would probably lose her courage and turn into a silent, scowling  _ lump _ . “I decided that if we found out some other way what he’d Seen, he would have no reason not to talk to us about it, but he wouldn’t have to disobey the Council. And it… it seemed too important to be kept secret. I thought we had a right to know.”

Master Tholme was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed. “You have the worst timing, Padawan.” Asajj looked up, startled. He looked… exasperated, but also distinctly  _ amused _ . “Knight Kenobi has petitioned the Council for permission to tell Padawan Skywalker about the vision, as well as Master Jinn. The Council has delayed the reveal to Master Jinn, in light of the Committee, but Padawan Skywalker was approved.”

“...oh.”

Master Tholme barked a laugh and shook his head. “Yes. ‘Oh.’ You had good intentions, but your actions created another… situation.” He turned serious again, fixing her with a heavy  _ look _ that made Asajj duck her head again. “The door you left yourself into his file was used by someone else.”

Asajj’s head flew back up, her eyes wide. “What?  _ Who _ ? Was it...”  _ Was it the Sith?  _ she wanted to ask, but couldn’t voice the question.

Master Tholme stared at her for a long moment, and then he sighed. “Well, we suspected that whoever had sliced into Knight Kenobi’s file from the Temple was in league with the other party who accessed the file. But apparently not, hm?” He shook his head. “Someone outside the Order has accessed it numerous times since you left that door open. I won’t tell you more than that.”

Asajj ducked her head, scowling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

Master Tholme sighed. “I know you didn’t. You didn’t  _ think _ .” She blanched, and he softened somewhat. “You won’t be doing that again, will you?” Asajj shook her head, not looking up at him. “Good. Knight Kenobi is waiting to take you back to your Master, who I’m sure is in an absolute panic right about now.” Kenobi had said much the same, and Asajj scowled down at her lap. Master Tholme hummed a considering noise. “I heard the story you told Guardians Imwe and Malbus. That was clever, and… not without a grain of truth. Your Master did suggest that you would make a fine Shadow, and… after this, I’m inclined to agree.”

Asajj’s head snapped up. “But I… Do you know what happened…  _ then _ ?”

Master Tholme raised an eyebrow at her. “Of course I do. I’m the Master of Shadows; I know all of the details. But I can hardly hold it against you. If you know, now, then you know about Knight Vos.” Asajj nodded. “He was my Padawan. He Fell, and returned to the Light, just as you did then. And you’re hardly Fallen  _ now _ , are you?” Asajj shook her head warily. Master Tholme’s lips twitched in a rueful sort of smile. “All of us Shadows have the most potential to Fall out of any Jedi. We see so much Darkness, it’s difficult not to succumb to hate, anger, and fear. But more than that, we  _ become _ Shadows precisely because we are… more naturally suited to understanding Darkness. We have an innate  _ potential _ for it.” He fixed her with a heavy gaze. “And we must constantly  _ choose _ not to give in.”

“As long as we have hope,” Asajj murmured, repeating something the imprint had said, over and over again.  _ As long as there is hope, we can do anything, endure anything. _

Master Tholme nodded. “Just so, Padawan. Now: when you’re Coruscant legal, come back here, and we’ll see if you want to be a Shadow.” Asajj blinked at him, and then nodded slowly, the barest hint of a smile on her face. Master Tholme sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms, and steepling his fingers together. “For now, get out of my office. Go to your Master.”

Kenobi said nothing on the way to the quarters she shared with Master Ky, though he had smiled gently at her and nodded approvingly when she left Master Tholme’s office. They walked in silence, ignoring the curious gazes of the few other Jedi they saw on their way.

Finally, they reached their quarters, and the door opened before Asajj could even put her hand to the scanner. Master Ky stood in the doorway, frowning at her. Asajj winced, and then--

And then Master Ky was wrapping his arms tightly around her,  _ squeezing _ just enough to take her breath away, or maybe that was just her own breathlessness, Asajj really couldn’t tell. She wrapped her own shaking arms around him in return, and they held each other, standing there in the hallway, not caring about who might see them displaying such unseemly  _ emotion _ .

“Don’t you  _ ever _ do that again,” Master Ky whispered roughly into her ear. “You can’t just  _ disappear _ on me.” She held on a bit tighter.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“I know you are,” Master Ky said, and she  _ knew _ that he knew, because she’d opened the bond to pour out all of the  _ stress and love and shame and hurt and fear  _ that she still felt. “You worried me.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.  _ I love you.  _ She wasn’t sure if the that was confined to her own mind, or drifted down their bond, but she  _ hoped _ it was just in her own head--

Asajj’s thoughts screeched to a halt as Master Ky whispered into her ear, “I love you too, little one. As if you were my own.”


	16. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is getting MASSIVE. I have plans for the rest of the time until Episode II would take place, so we will see that and there won’t be any HUGE time jumps before then, but question for you all: would you guys prefer that I split the story covering that ten-year time gap into 2 stories? Or just keep going on this one? We’re going to hit a point around chapter 25 or so that would make a good ending for this arc and lead-in to the next, so I think if I’m going to split this up, it should be soon. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Mando'ade: Mandalorians (lit. children of Mandalore)  
> buir: parent (mother, in this case)  
> vor'e: thanks  
> Vor entye: Thank you  
> Resol'nare: Six Actions, the tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> beskar'gam: Mandalorian armor  
> Mand'alor: leader of Mandalore (ie King)  
> Haat, Ijaat, Haa'it: Truth, Honor, Vision (said to seal a pact)  
> adiik: young child  
> Ret'urcye mhi: Goodbye (lit. "maybe we'll meet again)  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Su'cuy, vod'ika: Hello, little brother (lit. So you're still alive, little brother)  
> ka'ra: stars  
> di'kut: idiot

So much had happened in the last few weeks that Anakin felt like his head was spinning, thinking about all of it. He was worried--of course he was--about the war that Master Obi-Wan, Master Mace, and Master Yan seemed to think--seemed to _know_ \--was coming.

“Chin up, Padawan,” Master Obi-Wan had said brightly, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, which had gone stormy grey. “We have about seven more years before the war begins in earnest. Well, we should, anyway.”

That hadn’t been nearly as reassuring as Master Obi-Wan seemed to think it would be, but Anakin hadn’t wanted to say that, so he’d just nodded slowly and given him a tight smile.

He was worried about Master Yan--and not because of whatever dangerous mission with the Sith Lord they’d been talking about. Or not _only_ because of that. Anakin was worried because he’d stopped coming to family dinners, and he’d stopped just _being there_ when Anakin got back from his classes, sitting on the couch and drinking tea with Master Obi-Wan or Master Qui-Gon. Since the night Master Yan realized that Master Qui-Gon knew… whatever secret he was trying to hide (and Anakin had his suspicions about what that might be, given what he’d heard, but he couldn’t imagine Master Yan _Falling_ \--he cared about them way too much for that), Master Yan had been avoiding Master Qui-Gon. Anakin had come home _once_ since then to Master Yan sitting there, and they had played chess (and he _had_ liked the game, even if he would’ve preferred something with more activity, but having another tool to make Master Yan spend time with him made it more than worth it to sit still for a while), and Anakin had hoped that was a sign that things were going back to normal. But they just… hadn’t.

And Anakin was worried about Padme. If Naboo leaving the Republic signalled the start of some huge war, that couldn’t mean anything good for her. They’d managed to save Naboo once, that much was true, but Anakin didn’t know if they would be able to repeat the performance, especially if Naboo went to war against the _Republic_ , which the Order was sworn to defend. (Which, truthfully, Anakin also didn’t understand. Master Obi-Wan said that the Order served the _galaxy_ , not just the Republic, so why would they need to defend it? Why not just let the rest of the galaxy… work itself out? They could keep helping, with relief efforts like they had on Naboo, but… why did they have to take a side? And why did it have to be the _Republic’s_ side? None of it made very much sense to him.)

Sian was another point of concern for him. Anakin hadn’t heard from her in _two weeks_ , and he knew she was on a mission with her Master. It wasn’t _supposed_ to be dangerous, just some sort of negotiation over a trade dispute, but Anakin knew that that was the mission brief Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon had been given for Naboo, too. He had very little faith that any mission would go well, or as it should, especially given how Master Obi-Wan’s missions usually went. Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon tried to assure him that it was normal for Jedi to be out of touch on missions, and he shouldn’t worry--not yet. But he couldn’t _help it,_ and it drove him crazy to know that even if Sian _was_ in trouble, there was nothing he could _do_ about it.

And Asajj… _Something_ had happened, that much was clear. She worked with him in their Mechanics class, but she was… quiet. And the look in her eyes… Anakin had _seen_ that look before. It was… almost like a mixture of Master Obi-Wan’s _grief_ and Master Yan’s _doubt_ . Anakin had tried to ask if she was okay, but she just muttered something about not sleeping well and wouldn’t really answer him. She wouldn’t come over, either; Anakin had told her he was grounded, and if they wanted to spend any time together outside of their shared class, she’d have to come over, but every day she had a new excuse. _Something_ was wrong, but her shields were always carefully in place, so he couldn’t even _sense_ anything from her. It was… frustrating.

But there were good things, too. _Buir_ had told him, on one of the two comm calls Anakin was allowed for the week, that a group of _Mando’ade_ had come with her to… wherever she was. One of them was that Kain guy, and Anakin didn’t know him very well, but he could _hear_ the smile in _buir’s_ voice when she talked about him. He made her happy, and that made _him_ happy, because if anyone deserved happiness, it was his _buir_.

And Anakin was going to _Ilum_ . As soon as he was done being grounded next week, Master Obi-Wan had told him, they would leave. He was going to find a _kyber crystal_ , and he was going to have a _lightsaber_ , and finally he’d be a _real Padawan._ That, at least, was _exciting_. He was counting down the days until his grounding was over more for that than the actual end of his punishment.

“What color do you think my ‘saber will be?” Anakin asked one afternoon, sitting on the floor in front of the caff table and tinkering with yet another mouse droid. He was going to present them, at the end of his Mechanics class, as his final project. After that, Master Obi-Wan told him, they would show them to the Council and the Temple Guard, suggesting their implementation as added security.

Master Obi-Wan hummed a thoughtful noise and glanced up from the datapad he was poring over. “There are any number of colors it could be,” he said, setting the ‘pad down on the caff table. He moved himself down, settling with his back against the couch on the other side of the caff table, and picked up one of the replacement control chips, holding his hand out for the spanner he needed. Anakin grinned and handed it to him, and Master Obi-Wan got to work getting the new cables in place.

“I’m hoping it’s blue, like yours,” Anakin said, and Master Obi-Wan grinned to himself. “Or green, like Master Qui-Gon’s. I’m guessing there’s not a very good chance it’d be purple, since I’ve only ever seen Master Mace with a purple ‘saber. So if I can’t have that, then I’m hoping it’s blue or green.”

Master Obi-Wan snorted. “Mace started out with a blue ‘saber,” he said. “It was the addition of a red crystal that made his ‘saber purple. Can you please pass the-- _vor’e_.” Anakin was already handing him the control pin he needed, and Master Obi-Wan glanced up to give him a smile. Anakin frowned at him.

“But I thought red crystals were… Sith,” he said slowly.

“Yes, and no,” Master Obi-Wan said slowly, pausing as he carefully attached the control pin and reached for the soldering iron. “Sith crystals are generally red because they… bleed.” Anakin’s frown deepened, and Master Obi-Wan glanced up at him once more before going quiet again, finishing the soldering before speaking, returning the iron to its stand. “We believe that the crystal chooses the Jedi. That is why we go to Ilum, and go through the ritual of seeking out the crystal we are meant to have; that is why we must meditate with them, to tune ourselves to them, before we can build the lightsaber they will become part of. But Sith… They believe in power, and control. They _force_ crystals to submit to them, and that causes the crystal to bleed, turning it red. But there are some naturally occurring crystals that are red, or shades thereof. Siri’s ‘saber, for example, is pink.”

Anakin blinked. “Your friend, Knight Tachi? The one who just came back to the Temple?”

“That’s the one. May I have the-- _vor’e_ ,” Master Obi-Wan cut himself off again as he took the sealant Anakin was already holding out to him.

“I still hope mine’s blue,” Anakin muttered, and Master Obi-Wan huffed a laugh.

“The most important thing is to find the _right_ crystal,” he said, shaking his head. “The color will be an expression of your relationship with your crystal, and whatever color it is, I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

Anakin flushed and looked down, although he clearly felt Master Obi-Wan’s gentle amusement and pride over their bond. He smiled and clicked the circuit he’d been working on into place.

“I hope I get to see Asajj before we go,” Anakin said softly. Master Obi-Wan hummed.

“I’d be willing to make an exception to your grounding so that you may say goodbye to her, before we leave,” Master Obi-Wan began slowly, “but I think that I should go with you.”

“That’s… fair,” Anakin said slowly, and Master Obi-Wan smiled. They’d had several long talks about what was fair, and what was unfair, and that Anakin needed to stop thinking wholly in terms of _nice_ and _mean_ , and instead start thinking about _fairness_ and justice. “She’s been avoiding me. I told her I was grounded, and she’d have to come here, but… she just keeps making excuses. Honestly, I’m… I’m worried about her.”

Master Obi-Wan’s shields tightened, the low-level emotions Anakin was used to feeling from him suddenly cut off, and Anakin looked up quickly. His face was blank, too.

“Asajj is also grounded herself,” Master Obi-Wan said slowly. Anakin frowned.

“Oh. But why wouldn’t she just tell me that?”

“Perhaps she was embarrassed,” Master Obi-Wan suggested slowly. “Or she may not have wanted to talk about what she did.”

“You know what it was, don’t you?” Anakin asked. Master Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“I do. Padawan…” Master Obi-Wan set the chip down on the table and looked at him, really _looked at him_ , and Anakin sat up a bit straighter. “I was able to get permission to speak to you about the… visions. We will have another stop to make, after Ilum, but on our way back to the Temple… I will tell you everything. I promise.”

“ _Vor entye,_ ” Anakin breathed, grinning broadly. Master Obi-Wan smiled back, and Anakin basked in the warmth, the heady feeling of knowing that he was _trusted_ with this, for a moment, before his thoughts caught up with him. “But what does that have to do with Asajj?”

Master Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “She… looked into something she should not have,” he said slowly. “She knows more, now, than she should, or was meant to.”

“Oh,” Anakin said. “So she knows…?”

“Everything. Well, nearly everything.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Indeed. Now, we’d best get this finished; you’ll be missing about… half of your classes this cycle, I’d estimate. We should have this ready so you don’t have to scramble to prepare it when we get back.”

Anakin nodded and held out a hand for the chip Master Obi-Wan had been working on, his mind still reeling. _Asajj_ already knew? That just… didn’t seem _fair_ . He took a deep breath, clinging to the knowledge that Master Obi-Wan was going to tell him, and _soon_ , and turned his attention back to the droid. Master Obi-Wan was right, as always, and he _did_ need to have it finished before they left.

“Can I please have the--” Anakin looked up and saw the spanner Master Obi-Wan was already holding back out to him and smiled.

* * *

The last three days before they left were so _busy_ that Anakin barely had time to think about the visions, or his future ‘saber. He had to ask each of his instructors for the coursework ahead of time, so that he could work on it while he was away and avoid getting _too_ far behind; Master Vylarr, his instructor for the Negotiation course he was taking, had laughed huskily, his lekku curling in amusement.

“You needn’t be concerned about _falling behind_ ,” Master Vylarr had said, shaking his head. “Just pay attention to your Master, and your Grand-Master. And your _Great-Grand-Master_ , come to think of it. You come from a long lineage of excellent negotiators.”

Anakin had smiled tentatively at him and nodded. He knew that Master Vylarr probably meant that to be kind, but it stirred another set of anxieties in him. There was… so much _pressure_ , being Master Obi-Wan’s Padawan. He wouldn’t have wanted any _other_ Master, of course, except maybe Master Qui-Gon, although he was starting to think that even he wouldn’t have been as good a fit as Master Obi-Wan was. But still, Master Obi-Wan was… a _living legend_ . He was the best negotiator, the best swordsman, the best _Jedi_ in the Temple. And Anakin was _terrible_ at negotiation--his interactions with Master Qui-Gon, although the hurt had mostly been healed by now, still served to show him that he had a lot of work to do, catching others in their lies and half-truths; it didn’t come as effortlessly to him as it seemed to come to Master Obi-Wan. He wasn’t sure how he could live up to that reputation.

And the reminder of his Great-Grand-Master…

Anakin went home that afternoon with a tall stack of datapads to work on while they were away from the Temple, set them unceremoniously on his desk, and then marched up to Master Obi-Wan.

“Can we go see Master Yan?”

Master Obi-Wan’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Of course. I’ll be sure to find a time we might see him before we leave.”

* * *

The night before they were due to leave, Asajj showed up at their door, her Master just behind her. Before she could even walk through the door, Anakin hugged her tight.

“Master Obi-Wan told me what happened,” he murmured. “I hope you’re okay.”

Asajj awkwardly patted his shoulders, then squeezed once before pushing him away. There was a light scowl on her face, and her shields were up high, just like they had been the past few weeks, but her slightly teary eyes gave her away.

“I will be,” she muttered back. Anakin nodded and stepped aside to allow them in; Master Ky gave him a gentle smile and a nod.

“We have a bit before dinner is ready, if you’d like to make yourselves comfortable,” Master Obi-Wan called from the kitchen. He was still wearing his _beskar’gam_ , having run late from… some sort of meeting. Anakin wasn’t sure _what_ his Master did when he was in classes. He’d had to rush to get dinner started, and hadn’t had time to change.

It was obviously attention-catching, and Master Ky strode straight to the kitchen, stopping a few feet away to stare at him. “I hope you’ll forgive my curiosity,” he said, tilting his head thoughtfully as he took it all in. Obi-Wan glanced up at Master Ky, and then down at his _beskar’gam_ , and he laughed. Master Obi-Wan dismissively waved the wooden spoon in his hand, and both Anakin and Asajj snorted at the incongruous picture that made, a Mandalorian Jedi in full armor waving a sauce-covered spoon around. They exchanged looks and burst into a fit of giggles. Master Obi-Wan leaned around Master Ky to give them a _look_ , one eyebrow raised, before he smiled himself and shook his head.

“It’s quite alright,” Master Obi-Wan finally answered Master Ky. “I knew it would create quite a stir, when I swore to the _Resol’nare_ and accepted the _beskar’gam_.”

Master Ky hummed. “I’m surprised the Council allowed you to swear to the _Resol’nare_. I was under the impression that it demanded allegiance to the King of Mandalore.”

Master Obi-Wan shrugged. “The Council was hardly given the chance to object,” he said. “And the _Mand’alor_ was kind enough to exchange himself for the _ka’ra_ , for my vows--the stars, literally translated, though he used it to mean the Force. So I have sworn to nothing that the Council could not accept.” He paused for a moment, smiling a bit ruefully. “Eventually, anyway.”

The door chimed again, and Anakin jumped up to get it. He smiled broadly at Master Yan in the doorway. “Hi, Master Yan! It’s good to see you.”

He nodded sharply. He looked even tenser than usual, his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back, the set of his jaw hard. “You as well.” He stepped inside, and glanced around, frown deepening. “Where is Qui-Gon?”

“The Committee are all having dinner together tonight,” Master Obi-Wan called from the kitchen. Master Yan relaxed, a little flash of _relief_ floating into the Force from him that he hadn’t quite been able to shield. Anakin frowned and resisted the urge to sigh. If they didn’t fix this, he thought there might be a chance that Master Yan and Master Qui-Gon went back to avoiding each other for the _next_ eight years.

Master Yan made his way over to Master Ky, the two of them shooing Anakin and Asajj back into the living room as they set the table, clearly giving them a moment to speak. Asajj threw herself down onto the couch, folding her arms over her chest and scowling down at the table.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Anakin asked. “What happened in those visions.” Asajj nodded slowly.

“It’s not even… that’s not the problem,” she said. “I’ve already seen how Kenobi and the others have changed things. I’m not worried about the same things happening twice--at least not the same way. It’s just… I found out something about myself. It… wasn’t good.”

Anakin frowned. “What do you mean?”

Asajj shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Master Obi-Wan’s going to tell me once we’re away from the Temple,” Anakin said. Her head snapped up. “Not _all_ of it, he said, but the… important stuff.” She nodded slowly, glancing over to the kitchen. Master Obi-Wan must have sensed her gaze, because he turned and caught her eyes, giving her a tight smile and a nod.

Asajj nodded back, and refocused her gaze on the caff table. “No one came for us, then. On Rattatak. We stayed stranded there, and Master Ky… He…” Anakin nodded his understanding. He knew that Master Ky had had to go to the Halls of Healing not long after he and Asajj had come to the Temple, to get himself fixed up. If he’d stayed on a hostile planet with those injuries, and no back-up… It was obvious what had happened to him in the visions. “And I… didn’t handle it well.”

“You Fell,” Anakin whispered. Asajj flinched, and then nodded slowly. Anakin frowned thoughtfully. Honestly, he was starting to see a pattern to the people that had Fallen in the visions, if Master Yan was any indication. Master Yan _cared_ , so much, for Master Qui-Gon, and Master Obi-Wan, and even Anakin. And Asajj… she cared so much about her Master. She _loved_ him. And her friends, too. If anything happened to those people…

Anakin was starting to understand why the Jedi had rules about attachments. But he still didn’t really _understand_ how they were expected to love without attachment--though Master Obi-Wan said he was doing well with that. His ability to let go of his _buir_ , to let Obi-Wan go when he was needed, was enough to reassure them all that he wasn’t attached to a point that would be detrimental, although he clearly loved them both.

“Okay,” Anakin said. Asajj finally looked up, her brow furrowed. He shrugged. “This isn’t then. You’re not the same person. And you’re _not_ stuck on Rattatak. Your Master is here, and the healers helped him. But… even if something _did_ happen to him, you don’t have to go through it alone, not like you would’ve if you’d still been on Rattatak. We’re your friends, Asajj. We’ll be here for you no matter what’s going on.”

Asajj stared at him for a long moment, and then her expression broke into a watery smile. Anakin smiled back.

“I won’t Fall,” Asajj whispered. Her smile faded into a look of pure, stubborn determination, and Anakin’s smile only grew. _That_ was a far more familiar look on her face than the teary grin had been. “ _Haat, Ijaat, Haa’it_.”

Anakin nodded back. “ _Haat, Ijaat, Haa’it_ . We won’t _let you_ Fall.”

They lapsed into silence after that, both of them feeling the weight of the heavy oaths they’d just made, until Master Obi-Wan cheerfully called that dinner was ready.

* * *

Master Ky and Asajj left shortly after dinner, and this time, Asajj bore the hug Anakin gave her with a bit more grace, squeezing him back briefly before letting go and stepping back.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Asajj promised, and Anakin nodded, smiling at her. She scowled again, then, but Anakin only smiled at the familiar expression. “I’m a bit… put out, though, that I’ll have to find another partner for our Mechanics class.”

Anakin laughed. “You’ll probably end up tutoring, I bet.”

Asajj’s lip curled in disgust, and Master Ky snorted. “That’s a wonderful idea. Asajj would do well to learn more _patience,_ and tutoring would certainly help with that.” She rolled her eyes, sneering, and Anakin giggled. “May the Force be with you, Padawan.”

Anakin bowed. “And also with you, Master.” He hesitated for a moment before turning back to Asajj. “Will you comm me if you hear anything from Sian before I get back?”

Asajj nodded. “I will.”

“ _Vor’e_ ,” Anakin said. Asajj smiled tightly at him and turned to leave. Anakin watched the door close behind them and turned back to Master Obi-Wan and Master Yan, who had settled themselves on the couch, drinking tea rather than brandy this time. Anakin walked over and settled himself down on the carpet across the caff table from Master Obi-Wan, and beside Master Yan.

“Asajj will be fine,” Master Obi-Wan murmured. Anakin nodded.

“Yeah. She will,” he agreed, and then he turned to Master Yan, frowning lightly. “But _you_ , I’m worried about.” Master Yan stiffened, and Anakin shook his head. “You should talk to Master Qui-Gon. He cares about you a lot, and you care about him, too. You shouldn’t keep avoiding him.”

“That’s getting to the point with a vengeance,” Master Obi-Wan muttered, and then he sighed, turning to Master Yan. “He is right, you know. Despite what Qui-Gon learned, he does still care for you. Very much. And we _trust you_.”

“More than you trust yourself, I think,” Anakin added, still frowning, a furrow forming between his brows. Master Yan blinked at him, and then his own lips twitched in a frown. “You Fell, didn’t you? In the vision. Like Asajj.” Master Yan’s eyes flicked to Master Obi-Wan, and then back to him. Anakin shook his head. “I get it. Asajj told me that her Master died on Rattatak, in the vision, and that’s what made her Fall. And… I know what the Council says about attachments. But they can be used for good things _or_ bad things, just like the Force. It was my attachment to my _buir_ that made me help during the battle on Naboo--I knew that that was the right thing to do, what she’d _want_ me to do. I could help, so I did. And that was a good thing that I might not’ve done if I hadn’t been so focused on living up to what she taught me. I was… scared, some, and I might not’ve done it if I hadn’t been thinking about her. I think you just need to… focus on _why_ you love the people you do, and why we love you, too. And it’ll help, and maybe someday you can see yourself the way we all see you, and start trusting yourself more. ‘Cause you’re _not_ the same person, that much I can figure out.”

There was silence for a long moment after Anakin finished speaking, and then Master Yan nodded sharply. “You are quite wise, for one so young,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Anakin grinned at him and nodded back. “So you’ll take care of Master Qui-Gon while we’re gone?”

Master Yan nodded again. “I will.”

Anakin’s grin grew, and he could feel the bright, steady, _warmth_ of Master Obi-Wan’s _pride_ through their bond. A sense of _peace_ he rarely ever felt (not unless he was meditating with Master Obi-Wan, or in a big group, usually) settled over him, and Anakin just _knew_ , with all of the conviction he’d held when he’d been a newly-freed nine-year-old _adiik_ , that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Master Qui-Gon got back too late that night to see them before they went to bed, but he was there waiting beside the _Prudii_ before they shipped out. Anakin grinned at him and waved excitedly; Master Qui-Gon smiled indulgently and nodded to him.

“Good morning,” Master Qui-Gon greeted them when they grew close enough.

“Good morning, Qui-Gon,” Master Obi-Wan returned, giving him a soft smile before turning to the _Prudii_ , lowering the ramp and ducking inside to begin the preflight checks. Master Qui-Gon turned to Anakin.

“I’m glad you came,” Anakin told him, giving him a broad grin. Master Qui-Gon smiled back and nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “I won’t be able to go with you, and your birthday is coming up. More than likely, you’ll still be gone, as Obi-Wan said there is another place he will be taking you after Ilum.” From his pocket, Master Qui-Gon withdrew a small, wrapped package, and pressed it into his hand. “You may open it now, or wait until your birthday, if you’d like.”

Anakin beamed at him. “ _Vor’e!_ I think I’ll wait,” he said. “I like having surprises to look forward to.” Master Qui-Gon grinned at him and nodded.

“Good. I suspect the gift will also make more sense if you wait,” he said slowly. Anakin frowned thoughtfully, already trying to take the clue and puzzle out what it was. Master Qui-Gon chuckled. “None of that, now. You will simply have to wait and see.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, grinning again. “Yes, Master Qui-Gon.” He grew serious again, looking up at Master Qui-Gon and fixing him with a solemn expression. “Will you do something for me while I’m gone?”

“Of course.”

“Just… watch out for Master Yan?” he requested. “He’s been… sad again, lately. I think it would help, if you’re there for him.”

Master Qui-Gon sighed, and then nodded. “Of course,” he repeated. Anakin grinned at him again and nodded. Darting forward, he wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s middle; Qui-Gon squeezed him back for a moment before they backed away from each other.

“ _Ret’urcye mhi_ ,” Anain said. Qui-Gon smiled softly.

“I’m certain we will, Ani,” he murmured. Anakin nodded and gave him one last smile before climbing up the ramp.

“Can you finish the pre-flight checks for me?” Master Obi-Wan called from the cockpit. “I need to speak to Qui-Gon for a moment.”

Anakin nodded eagerly, even though he knew Master Obi-Wan couldn’t see him. “‘Course I can!” Excitedly, he darted forward to the cockpit, taking the copilot’s seat and peering at the checklist, starting with checking the fuel gauge, since that was where Master Obi-Wan had left off. His Master rose and squeezed his shoulder before making his way out of the ship.

Even if he could have heard what Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon said to each other, Anakin was far too focused on the ship to eavesdrop. This was the first time he’d been put in charge of something like this, and he was _excited_ , but also careful, taking his time--he knew he had to get this right, if he wanted Master Obi-Wan to keep trusting him with duties like this, and eventually teach him how to fly the _Prudii_.

After a few minutes, Anakin was finished, and beginning the secondary checks.

“Done then?” Master Obi-Wan asked as he retook his seat in the pilot’s chair.

“Almost. Just need to double check the hyperdrive coolant line,” Anakin said, pressing the button that would fire a pulse through the line, verifying its integrity. The screen lit up green, and Anakin beamed at him. “Now we’re done!”

“Good job,” Master Obi-Wan praised, and Anakin beamed at him. “Now, check your straps, and we’ll be off.”

* * *

It took four days to get to Ilum from Coruscant, but Anakin didn’t mind. In fact, he was _pleased_ by the travel time it would take to get there--it meant that he had that much more time alone with Master Obi-Wan. His Master quickly enforced a routine. In the morning, they would meditate together, and then Anakin would work on his assignments while Master Obi-Wan pored over datapads of his own, alternately sighing, frowning, and laughing at their contents.

Each afternoon, Master Obi-Wan oversaw a moving meditation for him, sitting on a stack of crates in the cargo hold and directing him through open-handed katas.

“Imagine the weight of the ‘saber you will build in your hands,” Master Obi-Wan said. “Feel the balance of it, and begin to form a picture of it in your mind.”

And Anakin _tried_ , he really did, but he just… couldn’t. He was starting to get frustrated, until, on the third night, bonelessly exhausted from another day of datawork, meditation, and katas, he had a dream.

 _He was standing on a hill, golden knee-high grass rippling as the wind kicked up around them, though he couldn’t feel it through his armor. In the distance, Anakin could see the other_ Mando’ade _charging up the next hill. Several mortars went flying towards them, but it was the work of a moment to close his eyes and stretch out his hands, directing them away from the troops._

 _A familiar presence appeared beside him, and Anakin turned to his_ ori’vod _, grinning broadly; he was certain Obi-Wan could sense it even though he couldn’t see his face, under his_ buy’ce _. “_ Su’cuy! _”_

 _Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head; Anakin could hear him breathing heavily through his own_ buy’ce _. “_ Su’cuy, vod’ika. _The battle is going surprisingly well.”_

_Anakin gave him a toothy, predatory smile. “I think it’s about time to jump back into the fray, don’t you? Can’t let the men have all the fun!”_

_Obi-Wan laughed again and nodded. “No, we certainly couldn’t have that.”_

_Anakin grinned and ignited his ‘saber again, a bolt of blue-tinged-white springing forth. “Race you!”_

_Without waiting for Obi-Wan’s answer, he started off down the hill; he didn’t even need to turn to look, knowing from both the sound and the Force that Obi-Wan had activated his twin ‘sabers, pure blue and bright yellow._

_“Always on the move,” he heard Obi-Wan say._

Anakin woke to the sound of himself laughing, and sat up, shaking his head. That had been… something. He’d never had a dream quite like _that_ before--it had felt so _real_ . Honestly, Anakin could hardly tell the difference between the world he’d been on in that dream and the bunk he was sitting in on the _Prudii_.

He grinned to himself and jumped out of his bunk, digging around in his bag until he found the flimsi he’d packed with him, and the pen. Settling back down onto the bunk, he began to draw.

* * *

The next time Anakin woke, it was because Master Obi-Wan was gently shaking him.

“Ani, wake up,” he said, sounding amused and fond. Anakin blinked his eyes open; he’d fallen asleep with the sheets of flimsi scattered around on his bunk, the pen still in his hand. “I take it you settled on a design?”

“I had a dream about it!” Anakin said, beaming at him. Master Obi-Wan went still. “What?”

“You had a dream about your ‘saber last night?” Anakin nodded slowly.

“You were in it, too,” Anakin said. “We were fighting with a bunch of _Mando’ade_ , and I saw my ‘saber! And you had--”

“A second one,” Master Obi-Wan finished. “A yellow lightsaber.”

Anakin gaped at him, and then nodded. “Did we have the same dream?”

“It seems that way,” Master Obi-Wan confirmed slowly. “But I had the dream from my own perspective, so I don’t think it was simply shared through our bond. Perhaps the Force was trying to tell us both something.”

“I had _beskar’gam_ , too,” Anakin said slowly. Master Obi-Wan grinned at him.

“Yes, I did see that,” he said, and then he reached out to ruffle Anakin’s hair. Slowly, his smile faded, and he fixed Anakin with a serious look. “Padawan, I’m sure you realize that not _all_ vision-dreams come true; and some _may_ be true, but only in part.”

Anakin sighed. “Yeah, I know. But I really hope some parts of this one come true.” He eyed Master Obi-Wan’s _beskar’gam_ , and his Master grinned at him again and shrugged.

“We’ll just have to see what the future brings when it comes,” Master Obi-Wan declared. “For now: do you have an idea of what your ‘saber should be?” Anakin nodded eagerly, looking down at his detailed schematics. Master Obi-Wan smiled. “Good, because it’s time. We’ll be touching down on Ilum within the hour. I’ll be in the cockpit, if you’d like to get dressed and come help with the landing.”

Anakin whooped and scrambled out of his bunk. This was going to be one of the best days _ever_ , he just knew it--he was going to help Master Obi-Wan land the _Prudii_ , and he was going to find a kyber crystal, and he was going to build a _lightsaber_.

Best. Day. _Ever_.

* * *

Bringing the _Prudii_ down was easy enough, even with Ilum’s harsh, snowy winds. Everywhere he looked, there was crystalline _white_ , the snow and ice covering the entire planet, it seemed like, and absolutely covering everywhere his eyes could see. Anakin bounced on the balls of his feet near the still-closed ramp of the _Prudii_ , eagerly waiting for Master Obi-Wan to finish shutting the ship down.

Master Obi-Wan finally left the cockpit, and he huffed a laugh and shook his head at Anakin’s obvious excitement. “You’re missing something, Padawan.”

“What?” Anakin asked slowly, frowning thoughtfully as he wracked his brain for what he might’ve forgotten. Master Obi-Wan shook his head again and turned away, opening one of the bags he’d brought and throwing something large, blue, and fluffy at him. Anakin looked down and blinked at the puffy, fur-lined coat.

“It’s far colder out there than you’ve ever experienced before, even colder than space travel,” Master Obi-Wan warned him. Anakin nodded slowly and pulled on the coat. He almost _hoped_ Master Obi-Wan was right, and it was cold out there, because he started sweating almost immediately as he zipped it and flipped up the hood.

“What about you?” Anakin asked. Master Obi-Wan grinned at him.

“I’ll be fine with my _beskar’gam_ ,” he said. “The bodysuit is thermal-regulating, and the _beskar_ itself will help. _Now_ you look ready. Shall we?”

Anakin grinned again and nodded, and Master Obi-Wan punched the button to lower the ramp. Immediately, Anakin felt the _blast_ of frigid air, and he found himself grateful for the heavy coat. Master Obi-Wan paused to pull on his _buy’ce_ , and then they were exiting the ship together.

He had to squint against the brightness of the place, the vast snowscape reflecting all of the sun’s light back at them, and he wished he’d brought goggles.

“Close your eyes, Padawan,” Master Obi-Wan said, half-shouting to be heard over the winds, which were just starting to pick up. “Stay close to me, and open yourself to the Force. We’ll guide you.”

Anakin nodded and closed his eyes, breathing in the cold air, feeling its sharp bite in his throat. Beside him, he could clearly sense Master Obi-Wan’s _Light-warmth_ , and he reached out beyond that. He could _feel_ the imprints of all of the other Jedi who’d been here before them, the paths they took through the snow, and he grinned to himself excitedly. He would join them, soon, finding a crystal of his _own_ and building a _lightsaber,_ and then he’d be a _real_ Jedi.

He wasn’t sure how long they pressed forward, trudging along in the snow, and as they walked, the rhythmic motion and the steady _crunch-crunch-crunch_ of the snow and ice underfoot lulled Anakin into an almost trance-like state. The Force was _beautiful_ here, so vibrant and so many different colors and sounds, so many different threads. There were bright, fiery orange and yellow threads, pulsing loud and hot, and then there were the steadier, quieter, but just as warm, in their own ways, blue and green threads. The threads twisted and tangled with each other, intertwined with the faint threads of the imprints of previous Jedi, and they all led back to the same place--

“Open your eyes.”

Anakin blinked his eyes open, and gasped, blinking rapidly: in front of him was an absolutely _massive_ structure, built right into a cliff made of solid _ice_. It was…

“Amazing,” Anakin breathed. He could feel Master Obi-Wan’s warm excitement and encouragement floating down their bond, and Anakin sprinted forward. “C’mon!”

Master Obi-Wan laughed, and then he helped Anakin use the Force to open one of the massive doors; a moment later, they were slipping into the structure, the heavy door falling shut with a loud _thud_ behind them.

Anakin breathed out, watching with wonder as he could _see his own breath_ , and then he looked around. They must be in the main part of the Temple, he realized; the ceilings were so _tall_ , and there was some sort of crystal lamp hanging down, reflecting the sunlight that came down from the windows set high up--probably made of ice, Anakin thought.

“Well then,” Master Obi-Wan said, brushing the worst of the ice crystals and snow from his arms and shaking his head; beside him, Anakin did the same. “We could go into the caves _now_ , or we can wait until tomorrow. But if we are to go, it _must_ be _now_. Otherwise, the entrance will be frozen over again by the time we try to leave the caves.”

“I’m ready,” Anakin said without hesitation. Master Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“As a matter of fact,” he murmured, “I believe you are.”

* * *

Master Obi-Wan went with him into the caves, and they walked together in silence until they reached a slightly more open area with numerous tunnels branching off of it.

“Which way do you think you should go?” Master Obi-Wan asked. Anakin frowned thoughtfully at them, and Master Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t think, Padawan. _Feel_. Let the Force guide you.”

Anakin nodded and closed his eyes. He could _see-hear-feel_ those threads again, the ones he had seen on their way to the Temple itself. Tentatively, he pulled on a green one, but it danced away from him. His attention was caught by a blindingly bright thread, one that seemed to… _tug_ back at him as he pulled on it, shimmering, and not-quite-blue. It headed off to his left--

“That way,” Anakin declared, opening his eyes and pointing a finger at one of the tunnels to the left. Master Obi-Wan nodded and squeezed his shoulder again.

“I must go my own way, now,” he said slowly. Anakin took a deep breath; he’d _known_ that Master Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to stay with him in the caves, but he was still… scared. “You have nothing to fear, Padawan, but fear itself. Put your faith in the Force; it will not fail you.”

“Yes, Master. I will.” Well, he would _try,_ but he knew what Master Yoda said about _trying,_ and he wasn’t about to say that to his Master.

Master Obi-Wan nodded to him, and then let his hand drop from Anakin’s shoulder, turning to take one of the paths near the center. Anakin took another deep, long breath and started down the path.

It was darker here--so much darker. Anakin let his shields down--they didn’t matter so much, not here, where Master Obi-Wan was the only other Force-sensitive being. He paused for a moment, standing still as he reached out his awareness: there were only a few packs of animals on Ilum, besides them. But beyond that, so very close, were the sweet, high chimes of a _crystal--_

 _Anakin’s_ crystal.

He grinned to himself excitedly and began walking again, slightly faster than before. He listened to the soft noise of the crystal, reached for its shimmering thread in the Force, and allowed it to lead him--

Straight to a dead end.

Anakin blinked at the wall of ice and snow before him, and then frowned. He groaned--had he taken the wrong path? Or made a wrong turn? He sighed and decided he should start backtracking, turning back and--

“Where are _you_ going?”

Anakin whirled around at the voice and gaped at the man before him, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. It was… well, it was _him_ , but older--the Anakin from the dream, from the future, stood there before him. He wore a full set of _beskar’gam_ , painted orange and edged with red--a lust for life and honoring a parent, he thought absently. Just like Master Obi-Wan’s _beskar’gam,_ he had the symbol of the Order on one shoulder, and the mythosaur that represented the _Mand’alor_ and the _Haat Mando’ade_ on the other, but both were in white paint, for purity.

“You’re… me?” Anakin asked slowly, tilting his head thoughtfully. The figure tilted his head in turn.

“I could be,” the man said, and then he hummed. “Or, really, _you_ could be.”

“Woah,” Anakin breathed. He’d heard about the Ilum caves, and how many Jedi had visions while searching for their crystals. But to be given a glimpse of his own _future_ was…

He knew what Master Obi-Wan said about the possibility that visions may not come true, but Anakin just… _knew_ that this one would.

“But you’ll never become me if you turn back now,” the older Anakin said. “You _are_ here to get your crystal, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I can’t get through the ice,” he said. The older Anakin laughed at him, throwing his head back.

“Ha, good one,” he said, shaking his head, still sounding amused. Anakin scowled.

“I’m not _joking_ , I really can’t get--”

But the figure was already gone, leaving Anakin alone again and staring at the dead end, just as he had before. He groaned.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. Frowning, Anakin wondered what Master Obi-Wan would do. _Put your faith in the Force,_ he’d said, _it will not fail you._

Anakin sighed and closed his eyes again, breathing deeply and trying to let go of his conscious self, reaching for the thread that would lead him to his crystal and focusing his entire _being_ on it. The older Anakin had been right--the thread went right through the wall of ice that blocked off the rest of the tunnel. Maybe… Maybe he could _push_ the ice, and break through it?

Taking a deep breath, Anakin raised his hands without opening his eyes, tilting his head back. He brought the Force to bear, _pushing_ against the thick sheet of ice in front of him right where the thread leading to his crystal seemed to go--

Anakin cracked one eye open, but it seemed like _nothing_ had happened. Frowning to himself, he closed his eyes again. Wrapping the Force around him, he reached for the thread again, and this time, he _pulled_ \--

He _heard-felt-saw_ a bright light, so blinding that he had spots dancing in front of his closed eyes. Cracking one lid open, Anakin grinned to himself as he saw that the wall of ice had shattered. He raced forward, and--

A moment later, he wished he had watched his step more carefully, because he was _falling_ , down, down, down, into the darkness--

Anakin landed with an audible _thud_ , a grunt escaping him. Standing, he rubbed at his sore backside and looked around: it was brighter here than the part of the cave he’d just fallen through, but this didn’t _look_ like the cave anymore. It looked like some sort of hallway, definitely not naturally-occuring. It was all cold durasteel, light shining through evenly-spaced grates in the walls. Anakin frowned--he thought he heard…

There it was again--that was _definitely_ the sound of a lightsaber hitting another lightsaber. Anakin began walking towards it, wondering if there _were_ other Jedi on Ilum right now after all, if they were practicing with their newly-built ‘sabers after just finding their crystals--

And then he saw them, and stopped dead in his tracks. One of them _looked_ like a Jedi, but he was old, with white hair, and a blue ‘saber. He seemed… familiar, somehow.

But the other man… Anakin shivered. He felt so _cold_ in the Force, and he was completely covered, wearing a black helmet and some kind of face mask, his breathing mechanical-sounding.

And his lightsaber was _red_ . This was a _Sith,_ and he--

“I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan,” the Sith said, and Anakin sucked in a breath. “We meet again at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner, now I am the Master.”

“Only a Master of evil, Darth.”

That old man was _Obi-Wan?_ But he looked-- Oh. _Oh._ This must be a vision of the vision Obi-Wan had seen before, and that meant that _this_ was his Fallen Padawan--

Anakin watched as they duelled, far slower than Master Obi-Wan was capable of moving now, and Anakin wondered how old he was. He felt his throat constrict. He _knew_ that Obi-Wan was going to win--Obi-Wan had told him as much, really. He hadn’t ever really _said it_ , but Anakin just _knew_ that Obi-Wan had killed the former Padawan--

“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin’s heart plummeted--he _knew_ that tone. Obi-Wan wasn’t saying that to _bluff_ , he was stating the plain, honest truth, and--

He was already resigned to his fate. He thought he was going to die here, he was just going to _let_ that monster _kill him_ \--

Obi-Wan brought his ‘saber up in a Shii-Cho guard, but Anakin just _knew_ that that was for show. He had no intention of blocking the strike, and Anakin saw the Sith bring his ‘saber back, getting ready for a _sai cha,_ judging from the angle _\--_

It hit Anakin, then: Obi-Wan’s scar. He had the scar from this _sai cha_ , and he was going to _die here--_

Anakin made his choice in a fraction of a second: he called the Force to him and _ran_ , putting himself between the Sith and the much-older Obi-Wan, raising his hands, and then he _pushed_.

“ _No!_ ” he screamed. “You won’t hurt him!”

But it did nothing, and the red ‘saber was still coming for him--coming for them _both_ , now. Anakin sucked in a breath and closed his eyes tightly, just as the ‘saber was about to hit his outstretched hands, but--

The ‘saber never hit. Slowly, tentatively, Anakin opened his eyes, and--

He was back in the caves, standing on a tall rock in the middle of a lake. His hands were still outstretched, but they were both firmly closed, and something--

Something sharp was digging into his palms. Anakin’s heart lurched, and he brought his hands closer to him and slowly pried them open. He laughed delightedly--there, in each palm, rested a crystal. One was white, but the other was slightly cloudy, and looked nearly blue, but not quite--

Anakin remembered the lightsaber he’d seen in his dream, and he laughed again. He’d _done it_ . And he hadn’t _just_ found his lightsaber crystal, he’d found _two of them_.

He whooped and jumped, crying out as his feet slipped underneath him as he came back down on the rock. He slid down more carefully, sitting on the rock, and looked around. Anakin frowned as he realized that there was no ice here for him to cross the lake. How in the Hels was he supposed to get _down_?

* * *

Anakin wasn’t sure how long he sat there, on the top of the rock, clutching at his crystals tightly. He was so _tired_ , and _sore_ , and he just… More than _anything_ , he wanted to see Master Obi-Wan.

But he knew his time was running out, and the door back to the main chamber would freeze over again soon, and he couldn’t afford to be stuck here until tomorrow--it was too cold, and he was too hungry, and he just really, _really_ needed his Master--

“Obi-Wan’s not here right now, kiddo.” Anakin looked over at the voice and scowled: his older self, with the _beskar’gam_ , was floating in mid-air in front of him, legs folded beneath him as though he were sitting on solid ground. “You’re going to have to get yourself out of this one.”

“But _how_?” Anakin asked, frustration beginning to overtake his exhaustion.

His older self shrugged. “You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure something out. But you’ve gotta get moving.”

With that, the image winked out, and Anakin groaned in frustration. He made a mental note to make a conscious effort, when he got older, to be _clearer_ and _more helpful_.

Sighing, Anakin clumsily released as much of his aggravation as he could into the Force before looking again at the lake. It still wasn’t freezing over, even as it got later in the day, but he knew it would be way too cold for him to swim across. And he was too tired to lift himself such a long way with the Force. Scowling, he looked around the rest of the cavern for a way back to the snowy bank, and--

There was a large pillar, made of ice, and it looked like it might be tall enough to stretch across, or at least most of the way. If he could Force-pull it over, and then jump down onto it, he could just walk across. Anakin took a deep breath and nodded to himself, putting both crystals into a pouch on his belt and zipping it closed tightly before turning back to the pillar. He reached out with both hands and focused on the top in the Force, finding the point where the _slippery-shining_ feeling of the ice turned into the _hard-inert_ feeling of the rock. He _pulled_ , and closed his eyes, focusing on the Force, and the ice, and nothing else, _pulling_ \--

There was a loud, echoing _crunch_ and _snap_ , and then the pillar was toppling over. Anakin _whooped_ again and jumped down, landing on it easily, and scampering across.

Then he heard a _rumble_ , and gasped. It hadn’t occurred to him that that pillar might be _structural_ , but then--

A massive boulder landed right beside him, and Anakin took off running. There was another tunnel, _just_ over there, if he could reach it--he used the Force to make himself _just_ that much faster, and threw himself into the tunnel, sprawling on the icy ground, as the ceiling caved in behind him, sealing off the path to the cavern.

Letting out a _whoosh_ of air, Anakin stayed on the ground for a long moment, breathing heavily. Finally, when he could breathe again, he pushed himself up and checked the pouch the crystals were in, feeling both still inside with a pang of _relief_.

Now he just had to find the way out, but… the tunnel before him branched off in two different directions. Anakin huffed--not even _getting out of here_ was going to be simple, huh?

Anakin sank back down to his knees and reached for the Force once again, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He could still _see-feel_ the vast, shimmering threads of the different crystals scattered throughout the caves, but he could also feel the _thrumming, golden_ thread that bound him and Master Obi-Wan, the thread in the Force that was their training bond. Anakin grabbed onto that thread and opened his eyes, starting down the passage to the right.

The walk back, at least, was fairly uneventful. He kept a firm hold of the thread of the bond and forced himself to walk, even though he felt like his legs were going to give out, he was so exhausted. Anakin wrapped the Force around him-- _just a little bit more_ , he asked it wearily. _Please, give me enough strength for just a little bit more. I’m almost there, I can feel it--_

Anakin rounded the corner and winced, blinking in the sudden, too-bright light. He threw a hand up to shade his eyes, and gasped: that was the light from the main hall refracting through the _ice wall_ that was rapidly freezing over the entrance to the caves. Sprinting forward, Anakin leaped, and then dove, and rolled, and--

He just barely passed through as the ice wall came down to meet the floor, and he lay there, panting heavily again. The crystals were a heavy weight in his pocket, and Anakin palmed them through the pouch, distantly waiting for Master Obi-Wan to come over and congratulate him, pull him up to his feet, but--

He didn’t.

Anakin frowned and sat up, looking around the cavern. There was no one else there. Anakin looked back to the wall of ice, and horrified realization crept over him: Master Obi-Wan was still in the caves. He’d been frozen in, and Anakin was… alone.

* * *

Anakin would freely admit--if only to himself, but what did that matter, because he was _alone_ \--that he had panicked. Realizing that his Master was missing, still somewhere in the ice caves, now sealed shut, while Anakin was safely back in the atrium… 

And all he _wanted_ was Obi-Wan. After seeing that… that _thing_ , that Sith, _kill his Master--_ Anakin just really, really needed to see him. He needed to reassure himself that Master Obi-Wan was _alive_ , and that he’d be okay--

But he wasn’t _here_.

His thoughts had spiralled, and Anakin had curled up, still in his puffy, warm coat, laying his head on his pack, and cried until he fell asleep. He could tell he hadn’t been asleep for long when he woke up again, but Anakin had felt so _tired_ , before, just _exhausted_ , but now he felt a bit better. (And he was never, ever going to tell anyone about the crying--he was _way_ too old for that.)

Somewhat more rested, Anakin felt ready to _think_ . He _had_ to do something, that much was obvious. But what? He’d just barely made it out of the caves himself, and besides, how could he possibly get through the ice door?

Sighing, Anakin went to sit up, and heard something metallic clink inside his pack. His eyes went wide as he remembered what he’d brought with him: all the components to make his lightsaber. He glanced at the ice door--it was thick, but… under the heat of a lightsaber, it would melt quickly. And Anakin might be tall for his age, but he was still pretty skinny, so melting a hole he could fit through wouldn’t be _that_ hard…

Anakin grabbed the pack and got to work, taking out the components and laying them neatly in front of him. First, he had to redo the mounting brackets he’d pre-installed--he’d been planning on _one_ crystal, not two. Nodding to himself, grateful to have a direction to go in, he grabbed a ‘spanner and got to work.

* * *

_Hours_ had passed, judging from the light overhead, and Anakin hadn’t gotten very far at all in assembling his ‘saber. The pieces were laid out in front of him, including the two crystals, and he’d been reaching for the Force the whole time, but they just wouldn’t… It just wouldn’t come _together_ . But he _knew_ all of the pieces were perfect, so why wouldn’t they just _fit_?

“You’ll never do it like that.” Anakin scowled and glared up at his older self, now leaning against one of the pillars, arms folded over his chest. The completed version of the lightsaber Anakin was _trying_ to build hung on the belt at the man’s hip, taunting him.

“Like _what_?” Anakin spat. The older Anakin tilted his head.

“How do your crystals feel?” the other Anakin asked instead of answering his question. Anakin scowled, but reached for the Force, and focused on the shimmering threads that had started to form between him and the crystals. His scowl became a frown, and he felt his brow furrowing. They weren’t _chiming_ , they weren’t _singing_ like before, and now that he really _looked_ , the threads binding him to the crystals seemed a bit… duller than before.

“They’re… not happy with me?” Anakin ventured, cracking one eye open. The older Anakin nodded.

“And why do you think that is?”

“Because… they’re… I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped, and he looked at the ice wall again--he _needed_ this to work, he _had_ to save Master Obi-Wan, and--

“Why is a Sith’s lightsaber red?” the older Anakin asked. The younger model wondered if he’d picked up Master Obi-Wan’s habit of speaking only in questions during such “teaching moments,” or if this was just Ilum being _Ilum_. “Focus on the question, kid.”

Anakin glared at him and thought back to what Master Obi-Wan had told him. “Because they bleed.”

“And why do they bleed?”

“Because… the Sith want control, and power. They _force_ crystals to bend to their will,” Anakin answered slowly. The older Anakin dipped his head.

“Exactly.”

Anakin sat up straight, eyes growing wide with alarm and concern. “But--my crystals _chose me_ ! I didn’t even have to _find_ them, they just _appeared in my hands_ ! _They_ came to _me_!”

“Yes, they did,” the older version of himself sighed, shaking his head. “But they have to be able to _trust you_ . You’re trying to _force_ this to work. Why?”

“I’m… Because it _has to_ ,” Anakin answered. “I _have_ to save Obi-Wan!”

“That’s a good goal, kid, but look at your motivations. How do you feel?”

Anakin frowned again and closed his eyes once more. How did he feel? He was tired again, and he was hungry, and _cold_ \--

“ _Emotionally._ By the _ka’ra_ , I swear I wasn’t this much of a _di’kut_ when I was your age,” the older Anakin grumbled. Anakin stuck his tongue out at him without opening his eyes, and heard a strangled laugh. “Force, was I a _brat_ though.”

Anakin ignored him, looking inward. How did he _feel_? He felt… cold. And not just because it was cold around him, he felt cold with…

“I’m afraid,” Anakin answered finally, opening his eyes and hanging his head. “Fear is the path to the Dark Side.”

“And now you know why your crystals won’t cooperate with you,” the older Anakin said, almost gently. The younger Anakin felt tears of _fear_ and _frustration_ flood his eyes, though he stubbornly refused to let them fall this time.

“So what am I supposed to _do?_ Just not _help him?_ ”

The older Anakin sighed and shook his head. “Which side of the Force we use isn’t always about our actions,” he said. “It’s how we _channel_ it. What does the Code say about emotion?”

“‘There is no emotion; there is peace,’” Anakin said slowly. The older one nodded.

“And the Sith Code says ‘peace is a lie,’” he said. “The _truth_ is… somewhere in between.”

Anakin blinked at him. “But that’s…”

“Heresy? Yeah, I know. But the Code isn’t a manual, it’s not ‘How to Use the Force Without Falling: For Dummies,’” his older self said, and Anakin snorted. “It’s an ideal. But it’s got the _right_ idea. You have to _let go_ of Obi-Wan. You have to accept that you might save him, or you might not. Let go of your fear: what happens happens, and it’s the Will of the Force. Master Yoda says ‘do, or do not,’ but what he _means_ is that if you try, the outcome has already been determined by the Force. _Everything_ that happens is the Will of the Force.”

“But… I don’t want anything to happen to him,” Anakin whispered, looking back down at the floor, the lightsaber components around him blurring as tears once more filled his eyes. “I… I love him.”

“I know,” the older Anakin said. “But you know what’s more important than fear, and love?” Anakin shook his head. “Hope. And faith. Don’t be _afraid_ that you might not find Obi-Wan; accept that possibility, but have _faith_ that you _can_ . Have _hope_ that you will. Channel _those_ emotions, and you’ll connect to the Light Side of the Force. It’s the same situation, just looked at in two different ways: the Light Side, and the Dark Side.”

“I don’t know _how_ to let go of my fear,” Anakin protested. The older version of him sighed.

“What, specifically, are you afraid of?”

Anakin bit his lip. “The Masters warned me before we came here that people can die, in the caves. I don’t… Obi-Wan _can’t_ die.”

“Why not? Everyone, _everything_ , dies.” Anakin’s head snapped up. The older version shrugged. “And he’d still be with you, if he did die. He’d be One with the Force, and the Force is always with you. He’d _never_ leave you.”

“I don’t… I wouldn’t get to _see him_ again, though, and... what would happen to me?” The sickening _fear_ he’d felt years ago now, on Naboo, when he’d heard Master Qui-Gon had been injured made a swift resurgence. Master Obi-Wan had helped him, then, but… if he died _now_ , who would take him on? Master Qui-Gon had already said that he couldn’t, and… 

“You’d be given to another Master, and finish your training,” the older Anakin said with a shrug. “You have to accept that death is a part of life, kid.”

“I… I _can’t_ ,” Anakin stuttered.

“You _must_ .” Anakin gasped, his heart leaping into his throat--he’d heard that deep, mechanical voice before. Whirling around, he saw the black-clad Sith standing only a few feet away from him. “Otherwise, you shall become _me._ ”

“No,” Anakin protested immediately. “I _won’t_.”

The Sith chuckled, though it sounded… strange, through the modulation of his helmet. “You are already trying to bleed your kyber crystals. You have already taken the first step.”

Anakin looked down, horrified, at his crystals. “No,” he whispered. “No, that’s _not_ what I wanted, I just--”

“Which of us will you be, kid?” the Anakin in _beskar’gam_ asked. “Me?”

“Or me?” the Sith asked, taking a step forward, stretching out a hand, palm up, in _invitation_ \--

Anakin closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears, reaching desperately for the Force, and the _still-shining gold_ thread of his bond with Obi-Wan. It was faint, but still pulsing. He grabbed onto it, and a sense of _calm_ fell over him, like just before he fell asleep on Obi-Wan’s shoulder on the couch after family dinner, that one _instant_ of clarity before sleep where the world was perfect and everything made sense--

“I’m not _either_ of you, and I’m _never going to be!_ ” he snapped at them. He looked up at the Sith, his hands clenching into fists. “I’m _not_ going to Fall. I’m not going to _bleed_ my crystals. I will _never be you!_ ” Anakin turned to the other version of himself. “And I’m not _you_ , either! I’ll _always_ care if Obi-Wan dies. I _love him_ , and I’m _going_ to save him! _So what_ if I can’t let go of my fear? It doesn’t mean I have to _use it_.”

Anakin put his hands out and closed his eyes, tipping his head back. He felt _so much_ , so many _emotions_ , all echoing back at him through the Force, but he focused on one above them all: _hope._

 _I_ **_hope_ ** _that I can save him_ , Anakin thought desperately to the Force. _I_ **_am_ ** _afraid, but that’s_ **_not_ ** _why I want to do this. I want to help him because I care about him, I_ **_love_ ** _him, and I_ **_can_ ** _help him, and so I_ **_should_ ** _. It’s what a Jedi does, and it’s what my_ buir _always said to do._

_Please help me, please, just do this one thing for me. I’m sorry, crystals, I didn’t mean to hurt you, please, just help me, I’ll show you that you weren’t wrong to pick me--_

Anakin gasped as he felt _warmth_ , the song resuming, the soft, bright chiming from the crystals. Through the Force, he felt everything _sliding_ into place, and--

The touch of a cool cylinder of metal met his right palm, and Anakin closed his hand around it. Opening his eyes, he stared at the _lightsaber_ he held, silver-and-black, the colors standing for redemption and justice, just as he’d seen it in the dream. He glanced down at the ground, but all of the components were gone--assembled into _this_.

He had _done it_ . Anakin had built his first _lightsaber_ , and his crystals _forgave him_ , and now he--

Now Anakin had to save his Master.

Turning back to the ice wall, he trod over quickly and stopped just in front of it, taking a deep breath. He ignited his saber, and his eyes went wide--it looked just like it had in his vision-dream, mostly white, but with a hint of blue at the edges. The hum of the modulated blade somehow meshed with the chiming of the crystals, forming a beautiful song, and Anakin grinned.

Taking one more breath, Anakin plunged his ‘saber into the ice.


	17. Padme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, you guys. Chapter 18 fought me and chapter 19 fought me, but I'm finally on to drafting chapter 20! I feel like I'm getting back into the swing of it.
> 
> To celebrate, have an early update! Something to read over the weekend. :)
> 
> And thank you so much to everyone for your comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! I love seeing what you guys are thinking about in the comments. Such great motivation!

Padme would admit, if only to herself, that the business of governing seemed far more daunting now that she was the highest authority in the sector. And there was so much _more_ to be done--even the most mundane matters required her attention, now--matters of policy that, once, would have been left to the Senate to decide, their member planets following their mandates. _And_ they had had to reestablish their trade agreements anew, as an _independent_ sector, as well as resigning _ancient_ peace treaties.

But today’s agenda… This was what Padme had known was coming, what she had been _dreading_ since the results of the vote.

“Your Majesty,” Sio Bibble sighed, “I understand your reluctance. We _all_ do. But our people cannot remain undefended. We must form some sort of military force. The Royal Guard is not _enough_ , that much was proven to us.”

Padme resisted the urge to sigh, or purse her lips, remaining impassive under the mask of her makeup. She turned to Cass Narr, the representative the Gungans had sent; in turn, Padme had appointed an advisor to Boss Nass’s court. The cooperation and camaraderie of their two societies was one of the few bright spots to come out of the invasion, she thought idly.

“Sir Narr,” she began slowly, “what do the Gungan people think about this?”

Cass Narr sat up a bit straighter. “Weesa warriors, Majesty. Weesa bombad warriors. Weesa no _need_ an army--weesa _are_ an army.”

Padme nodded slowly, giving him the barest hint of a smile. “Yes, you are. Your skill and courage were proven to us,” she said. “But if an attack were to come against the _sector_ , would you defend it? Or does Gungan protection extend only to Naboo itself?”

Cass Narr frowned thoughtfully. “Iffen an attack is comin’ against the sector, an attack is comin’ against Naboo. Weesa ready to do oursun part, but… meesa thinkin’ there not bein’ _enough_ of us for the sector.”

Padme nodded again. “I had feared as much.” She turned back to Sio Bibble. “But still, I find myself reluctant to believe we need _more_ than to expand the Royal Guard to complement the Gungan forces. Who would launch an attack against the entirety of the Chommell sector? Our immediate neighbors are peaceful people, even if they are mostly within the Republic yet. And with the Hutts driven from our nearest Outer Rim neighbors, I cannot fathom who might wish to attack us. We shouldn’t _need_ an army large enough to defend the entire sector at once.”

“Your Majesty, if I may…” Padme looked over at Sheev Palpatine. She had drawn her former Senator into her Council, after they parted ways with the Republic; his knowledge and experience were still exceptionally valuable, and he could give her insight into the Republic that she could find now from few others. She nodded to him in acquiescence. “I have heard… disturbing stories, from the contacts I still maintain within the Republic. It is only a rumor, for the moment--nothing has yet been confirmed, but… They say that the Republic has commissioned an army of their own, in secret.”

A bolt of _alarm_ visibly rippled through the assembled councilors. Padme frowned at him. “They would go against their own laws in such a way? And what do you mean, they _commissioned_ an army? Have they instituted a draft?”

Senator Palpatine shook his head slowly, expression apologetic and concerned. “No, m’lady. Not that I am aware of--and I do believe that would be too obvious to be kept so secret. I am not entirely certain what it means, but I _do_ trust these sources.”

“I’d believe it,” Captain Panaka spoke up, the set of his mouth grim, his expression pinched. “There are more and more systems considering leaving the Republic, now--and they’re becoming far more vocal about that consideration. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they plan to stop the separation by _force_.”

Padme closed her eyes briefly, drawing a deep, slow breath. Opening her eyes, she said, “The Republic is not what it once was. We all know this--we have all _felt it_ , in their inaction and callousness towards our plight. But I doubt that even they would have strayed so far from the path of rightness and justice as to do what you are all suggesting.”

“Your Majesty,” Palpatine sighed, looking so _mournful_ that Padme had to fight back tears, “we all admire your inherent _goodness_ . But not everyone has your purity of spirit, the courage of your heart. The Republic is _not_ what it once was, and I… it does not seem so far-fetched to me, that they may have fallen so far, and stooped so low.”

Padme levelled a considering gaze at him for a long moment. Finally, she shook her head slowly, mindful of the heavy weight of her hair and headdress piled atop her head. “I refuse to act based on rumor and conjecture. I understand that you trust your sources, Lord Palpatine. But they must bring me _proof_.

“Prematurely acting to create our own military force may only serve to escalate tensions, and the Republic may consider military action at _that_ point, if they have not done so already. I do not wish to be the one to incite violence. For now, I will authorize volunteers, to supplement the Royal Guard and the Gungan army. Sir Narr, would the Gungans consent to train the Naboo volunteers alongside the Royal Guard?”

Cass Narr nodded decisively. “Issa havin’ to be gettin’ permission from the Boss, but weesa helpin’ the Naboo before. Weesa bein’ friends. Meesa no seein’ any trouble standin’ in the way of helpin’ yous.”

Padme smiled at him and nodded. “It’s settled, then. Until Lord Palpatine’s sources can confirm these rumors, we will operate under an assumption of good faith, to avoid escalating tensions.” She rose, and the others with her, a tentative plan beginning to form in her mind. “You are dismissed, for now. Thank you for your service, and go with the Goddess.”

Her advisors bowed and then stood respectfully still as Padme left the room. She was distantly aware of Captain Panaka to her right side, and Sabe to her left, several of her other handmaidens trailing behind her. Once they were out of the throne room, Padme slowed her steps.

“Captain?”

“Yes, m’lady?”

“I need an unregistered comm,” she said slowly. “There’s someone I need to speak to, and quite urgently.”

“Of course, m’lady. Right way.”

* * *

Padme had just enough time to change, Sabe and Eirtee helping her out of her headdress and the ridiculous hairpiece--Padme grimaced as it came off, feeling her scalp tingle from the length of time she’d been carting that weight around atop her head, and the way it had tugged at her hair, and she rolled her stiff neck carefully--before Captain Panaka reappeared. She accepted the comm from him with a smile and a nod, turning to wipe the white-and-red mask of makeup from her face. Looking in the mirror, she looked… both more and less like herself, without the heavy makeup. Padme, even to her own eyes, looked… worried, and _tired_.

Perhaps she’d best make this call audio-only.

Nodding and sighing quietly to herself, Padme crossed over to one of the plush, forest green-edged-with-silver settees set alongside the large window and sank down onto it, pulling her legs up underneath her. She was grateful to be back in the privacy of her own chambers, where she could _slouch_ without any judging eyes. Her handmaidens lounged around her, speaking to each other quietly, though Padme could tell that they were keeping a close eye on her--as always.

Before she could change her mind, Padme keyed in the comm code she’d long ago memorized, but never before used, and she waited, and waited, and disconnected it when no answer came. She scowled softly; she should have asked Obi-Wan if his comm code had changed when she was on Coruscant.

Frowning thoughtfully, Padme tried another number. She would have _preferred_ to speak to a Jedi about this, as she felt she was likely to get the most _honest_ answer, but…

“ _Organa_.”

She smiled; Bail Organa was a good man, and she would never forget his kindness towards her. They met after the first time she had addressed the Senate; he had come to tell them that Alderaan in general, and he in particular, supported Naboo, and believed her accusations against the Trade Federation. He had given his personal promise to work with his fellow Senators, to try to sway them. Padme had taken that as a very encouraging sign, since Bail Antilles had been nominated. After he became Chancellor, Padme had felt a certain amount of _hope._ And Bail Organa had been true to his word--even _years_ after the invasion, he was still trying to bring his fellow Senators to see the truth about the Federation’s ill intent. Padme appreciated it, but… it hadn’t been enough.

The day she had announced before the Senate that Naboo was leaving the Republic had been… difficult. Once their pod had floated back to its dock after her speech, Padme had found herself unable to even _leave it_ , so packed was the space around it. There were Senators and reporters alike crowding around her, shouting questions and sharp-tongued accusations, and then Bail Organa had pushed his way through the crowd and led her to a service corridor that would take them out of the Senate complex without being further accosted.

And she would never forget his parting words to her: “I understand why Naboo made this choice, Your Majesty. And… no matter what happens, I would hope that you remember that there are those of us who will always be dedicated to the ideals of peace, prosperity, and _democracy_. Let us never be enemies, Your Majesty.” With that, Bail had taken her hand to kiss the back of it, pressing a folded piece of flimsi into her palm as he did so. Looking at it later, Padme found that it had been his comm code. She had used it numerous times in the months since then, sometimes calling for advice, and sometimes just for the voice of a friend.

“ _Hello?_ ” Padme realized she’d been woolgathering and sighed.

“Are you alone?”

“ _I am here as well._ ” Padme smiled--that was Breha. She and Bail were such a wonderful match, and Breha was almost as dear a friend to her as Bail had become, for all that the two queens had never met in person.

“But no one else?” Padme asked.

“ _No, we’re alone. Is everything alright?_ ” Bail asked, naked concern in his voice. Padme sighed again.

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me that,” Padme said slowly. “I heard an… unsettling rumor today. One of my advisors heard from a trusted informant that the Republic has commissioned an army, in secret and against its own laws.”

There was dead silence on the other end, and Padme blinked down at the comm, but the still-blinking light told her that they were still connected.

“ _Padme…_ ” Bail began, sounding suddenly breathless. “ _Who told you that?_ ”

She frowned. “Is it true?”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Bail said slowly. “ _I… it may be. It’s… complicated._ ”

“Bail--”

“ _We can’t discuss this over the comm,_ ” Bail said, now as firm and certain as ever. “ _Not even unregistered ones. I’ll… I’ll find a way to tell you. I swear that I will, but please, Padme--have patience, for now._ ”

Padme frowned down at the comm, her hand tightening around it. That sounded like confirmation. And Bail _knew about it--_

“ _It isn’t what you think. I can promise that, Padme,_ ” Breha said softly. “ _Please, trust us. Just for a while longer, until you have your answers._ ”

And they _had_ been such good friends to her, so warm and accepting, and they had always counseled her on what would be best for _Naboo_ , because they cared entirely too much to allow anyone to suffer when they may know how to help, even if their recommendations were not always best for the Republic itself. They were friends of Obi-Wan’s as well, after all, and he was a startlingly good judge of character.

“Alright,” she agreed slowly. “How long must I wait?”

“ _I’ll contact you tomorrow,_ ” Bail promised. “ _There is… someone else I have to speak to, first._ ”

“Alright,” Padme said again, feeling suddenly exhausted and panicked simultaneously. If it _was_ the truth, what did that mean for her people? What did that mean for their chance at _peace_ ? And what of their _independence_? “Thank you.”

“ _Thank you for trusting us, Padme,_ ” Bail murmured in return. “ _Tomorrow. Keep this comm on you._ ”

The call disconnected, and Padme huffed and shook her head. Looking up, she saw all of her handmaidens staring at her with near-identical expressions of concern.

“I’m retiring early,” Padme announced, standing. “I feel that we may need all of our strength tomorrow.”

“May the Goddess be with us,” Sabe murmured. Padme smiled, feeling tears burn behind her eyes. She blinked them away.

“Yes. May she always be with us.”

* * *

Padme was grateful that the majority of the following day was reserved for datawork. She did not know if she could have managed to keep a level head, had she faced yet another session with all of her advisors; instead, only Sio Bibble, Captain Panaka, and a few of her handmaidens remained with her in the throne room as she pored over the documents she was meant to review. Normally, Padme would have gotten through the work in only a few hours, but she was… admittedly distracted. Every now and then, as she nodded along, not quite listening as Sio summarized the changes in the Northern Quandrant’s budget line items, she reached down to finger the comm in her pocket.

It wasn’t until nearly dinnertime that a soft _chirp_ sounded from the commlink, and she breathed out deeply. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen; I must answer this.”

Captain Panaka scowled, but hid it quickly and bowed--politely enough, if a bit stiffly, his irritation at letting her out of his sight plain. Sio gave her a tight smile and rose to bow as well.

Padme waited until they were just outside the throne room, Eirtee palming the control for the door, before answering. “Padme.”

“ _We must be brief,_ ” Bail warned her. “ _And I am sorry to be so vague, but all I can tell you right now is this: when the offer is made, accept._ ”

Padme frowned; it wasn’t like Bail to be so _cryptic_ . Oh, of course he knew how to twist words, as any politician did, how to _imply_ without speaking a word of what he meant, but he was never _cryptic_.

“I can only assume that I will know what you mean when the time comes,” Padme said slowly. “This… offer will bring me answers?”

“ _Yes_.”

Padme nodded, even though she knew Bail couldn’t see her. “Very well. Thank you.”

“ _We’ll speak again, Padme. Hopefully soon,_ ” Bail said, and then he hesitated. “ _May the Force be with you._ ”

Padme blinked, and then smiled. “And also with you, Senator.”

The call ended, and Padme sighed, shaking her head slowly. She disliked _intrigue_ \--so much so that she often questioned why she’d chosen _politics_ , of all the careers.

“What do you think he meant?” Rabe asked slowly. Padme sighed again, looking back down at the comm.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, and then looked up again, slipping the comm back into her pocket. “But I’m certain we’ll find out, in time. We must have patience. Eirtee, please tell Sio and Captain Panaka that we will continue our work in the morning.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

* * *

It was early the following day, just after breakfast; their work had yet to even begin for the day, Padme just barely entering the throne room, her handmaidens behind her and Captain Panaka already standing guard in the doorway. Pulka, one of her aides, bowed hastily.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured, flushing. Padme smiled softly; Pulka had worked with her since she had first become queen, and still the young woman blushed and stammered in her presence. It was… endearing, if not a bit grating at times. “There’s an… important call for you.”

“Oh?” Padme asked. “From whom?”

“Master Windu, the Master of the Jedi Order.”

“Oh,” Padme breathed. She thought back to the call with Bail the night before, and how he had closed it with “may the Force be with you.” That wasn’t an _uncommon_ saying for Alderaani, with their long and cooperative history with the Order, but it was not something that she heard from them _often_. It had been a bit strange of him to say it, she realized, as he never had before…

Had he been hinting that the “offer” she was meant to accept would come from them?

“I’ll take it now, thank you,” Padme said, smiling at Pulka. “We musn’t keep the Master of the Order waiting, after all.” She winked at Pulka, who let out a soft _eep_ and bowed again clumsily, scurrying back to her station and waiting for Padme to take her seat at the throne.

The image resolved, and Master Windu appeared before her, though he was not alone; Master Dooku and Master Qui-Gon both stood behind him, at either shoulder.

“ _Your Majesty,_ ” Master Windu greeted her, and all three Jedi bowed. Padme bowed her head low in return, clenching her jaw as the weight of the headdress tipped forward, tugging the hair bound up in it uncomfortably.

“Master Jedi,” she returned. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my friends.” Master Qui-Gon smiled broadly at her and nodded, and even Master Windu’s lips twitched in a smile. “What may I do for you?”

“ _The third anniversary of the Battle of Theed is coming in only a few weeks,_ ” Master Windu said. “ _We understand that you will be continuing the tradition of the celebration._ ”

“Of course,” Padme answered, her grin turning proud. And however much she may have hated going to war, leading her people into conflict and death, she _was_ proud of what they had accomplished that day. “It has become an important symbol of our… independence.”

Master Dooku became, somehow, even stiffer at that, and Padme regretted her choice of words. She truly _hadn’t_ meant to twist the dagger of Naboo’s secession. But Master Windu merely nodded and smiled benignly at her.

“ _Of course,_ ” he repeated. “ _There is a… certain problem facing the Order that we thought we might take the opportunity to ask for your help in solving._ ”

Padme nodded. “By all means, Master Windu: please make your request. After all you’ve done for us, I would be happy to repay your kindness.”

Master Windu bowed his head in thanks before gesturing to Master Qui-Gon. “ _It is good to see you again, Your Majesty. Now, when we last spoke, and as I have heard Obi-Wan has also told you, the Order has some… difficulty in relations with planets who are not a part of the Republic. We are seeking to remedy this--the good that the Order does should not be restricted based on political divisions. We care for the people of the galaxy, not their politics._

“ _To that end, we are working on several outreach programs. When we realized that the anniversary of the Battle of Theed was upcoming, we thought that we might ask to stand with you this year,_ ” Master Qui-Gon said. “ _It would remind the galaxy at large of what we truly stand_ **for** _, and I believe it would be an impactful sign to other non-Republic planets that the Order desires a relationship with them, since Naboo now counts among their numbers._ ”

Padme stilled, and then laughed brightly. “Is that all? Your grand request is that I host a few old and dear friends?” she asked, shaking her head. “Of course I would be happy to have you here, Master Jedi.”

Master Qui-Gon beamed and then bowed low, and Master Windu nodded. “ _Thank you, Your Majesty. We will coordinate the details with your staff._ ”

Padme nodded again. “Of course. It will be wonderful to see you again,” she said honestly; just as Bail had last night, she hesitated, and then added, “May the Force be with you.”

Master Windu’s expression went perfectly blank, but he nodded slowly. “ _And also with you._ ”

* * *

The following morning, Padme met with her advisors immediately after breakfast, knowing that she cannot put off their sessions any longer.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted her as they bowed unison. She nodded, and they took their seats.

“I have good news for you all, for a change,” Padme said, smiling slightly. Poor Petr Vakirie, one of the Artists’ Guild representatives, looked so relieved he might cry; no doubt this talk of the possibility of _war_ , so soon after the last, was trying for him. He wasn’t meant for politics--which the Naboo believed made him a _perfect_ politician. Padme agreed, to an extent: he _was_ a perfect example of those of her people whom he represented, at least. But he had an artist’s heart, and it made him… squeamish, when it came to the actual, dirty business of governing.

Blinking rapidly and affixing her smile back onto her face, Padme continued: “We received a request from the Jedi Order yesterday. They requested that they be allowed to visit Naboo, to observe Freedom Day with us.”

Many of her advisors nodded and smiled, looking pleased, but Lord Palpatine frowned. “Your Majesty… I can understand your desire to reward their efforts to help us, and continue the friendship we have with them, but I have… reservations.”

Padme frowned. “Oh?”

Lord Palpatine sighed, shaking his head, his mouth twisted into a grimace. “I agree with your views on the Jedi Order: they are truly friends to Naboo, and what they did for us is not easily forgotten. However, the Order is inextricably _linked_ with the Republic. Although _we_ realize it to be false, too often they are conflated with Republic ambassadors and… enforcers.” A ripple of alarmed discontent went through the room, and Padme’s jaw clenched. “I fear that there may be some portion, at least, of our people who cannot separate the Jedi from the Republic, and see only a reminder of that government.”

“I see.” Padme nodded slowly as she pondered the question. Yes, the Jedi were often sent out into the galaxy as Republic ambassadors, but that had been what they _were_ when Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan--and little Ani--had saved her people. They had been meant to come as _ambassadors_ , to negotiate with the Trade Federation. But when they realized that diplomacy was no longer an option, they had not hesitated to do what was _right_ . Surely her people did not have such short memories. Padme nodded again, more decisively. “They are returning those to us we already know well. Master Jinn will be attending, as will Master Windu, and Master Dooku. Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker’s presences have been requested, but they are out in the field already, and it may take several more days to receive confirmation that they will be coming.” Padme smiled at Lord Palpatine, who was nodding slowly. “I would certainly _hope_ that our people would remember what those particular Jedi have done for us.”

Lord Palpatine hummed and nodded in return, looking pleased. “I am glad to hear it, Your Majesty. That will likely alleviate many of our fears.”

Padme smiled. “Indeed. And any fears our people may have will likely be soothed by the Order’s true purpose for coming.” Lord Palpatine blinked at her, a thoughtful expression overtaking his face. Padme’s smile grew. “They wish to stand with Naboo to show the galaxy that they still desire a relationship with us, though we are no longer a part of the Republic. They also hope that such a gesture will demonstrate to the other non-Republic planets that they are not restricted to Republic space alone.”

“That is truly wonderful news,” Lord Palpatine said, smiling broadly himself. His happiness was echoed throughout the Throne Room by the wide grins of the others, and Padme nodded. “Perhaps we could use this event as well.”

“How so?” Padme asked, tilting her head and quickly righting it as the headdress tugged at her scalp again. Perhaps she should consider changing the dress code. She _was_ the Queen who had to suffer through it, after all.

“If the Jedi Order would like to reach out to non-Republic planets… That is both a _kind_ goal, and an advantageous one, for us. A continued relationship with the Jedi Order… If it came to the worst, and the Republic _did_ try to retake Naboo by force, perhaps the Jedi Order would help us to reassert our right to independence, at least politically, even if they are sworn not to act against the Republic itself,” Lord Palpatine said thoughtfully. “And as for our fellow non-Republic planets, we have had a request. Mina Bonterri of Onderon has requested a meeting with us. Perhaps we could invite her here--it would be a marvelous opportunity for us to form a friendship with another who has recently left the Republic, and it would give the Jedi Order a chance to connect with her as well.”

Padme nodded slowly, and then smiled. “Thank you, Lord Palpatine. I believe your suggestion is a good one. Thoughts?” She turned to the rest of her advisors, most of whom merely nodded, though Sio looked like he wanted to say something. Padme met his gaze and held it, nodding.

“Your Majesty, we have had other requests as well,” he said. “I would not recommend responding _only_ to Onderon’s bid for our attention; we may need all the allies we can find, if the worst _does_ come to pass, and we wouldn’t want to risk this being seen as favoritism.”

Padme nodded again slowly. “I agree in principle, Lord Bibble, but please, tell me which worlds have reached out to us.”

“Tatooine was the first, after we left the Republic,” Sio said slowly, his brow lightly furrowed. “It was a general message of support. They remembered how one of their own had helped us, and indicated that they may be willing to become allies, should the need ever arise. After the uprising, they are swiftly becoming known for their military prowess.

“The second world was Geonosis--they have become particularly close trading partners with Tatooine, after the formation of Tatooine’s new government, being so close to them. They have an incredibly powerful manufacturing industry, and would likely become an advantageous trading partner, if not an outright military ally,” Sio continued. “And the third was Mygeeto; we know little about them, but they also reached out with a general message of support for us, and our cause.”

Padme nodded slowly. “I am not opposed to inviting ambassadors from each planet to our Freedom Day celebrations,” she declared. She glanced over at Captain Panaka, smiling wryly. “So long as my Chief of Security clears them all.”

A few chuckles sounded, and Captain Panaka grinned at her, baring his teeth. “I’ll vet them well, Your Majesty.”

Padme chuckled. “As you always do, Captain. Now that that is settled, what other business do you gentlemen have for me today?”

* * *

The meeting took the majority of the day, and though Padme was frustrated and tired by the end of it, she knew that she only had herself to blame, having put it off in the days before. After, she dismissed her advisors, and though Sio stood with the rest of them to bow, he remained behind as they left.

“You have something more to say, my friend?” Padme asked, letting the titles and formality drop now that they were in more intimate company. Sio nodded slowly.

“I do. Your Majesty, I put all of the communications from Tatooine, Geonosis, and Mygeeto into the briefings meant for the Royal Advisory Council, as they came to us,” he said. “When you never spoke of them in sessions, I assumed that you had read them and already decided not to act on them, for the moment. But your reaction today tells me that you never saw them.”

Padme frowned. “I had not seen them, no.”

Sio grimaced. “But I know you, Your Majesty: you read every briefing carefully, both before and after each meeting,” he said. Padme nodded her confirmation. “So for you not to have received the information, someone must have removed it. But the briefing is only shared between the Advisory Council before it goes to you--no one else has access.”

Padme took a deep breath, disliking the implications of that. “Captain Panaka.” He stepped forward, looking just as serious as she was certain she did. “Please do your best to get to the bottom of this matter.”

Captain Panaka nodded. “Of course, m’lady.”

If they had a mole in the Palace, they would have to find them. They _would_ find them, Padme promised herself. Naboo would never be helpless again, or _manipulated_ , not as long as she drew breath.

* * *

It was late, the moon high and large and so bright in the sky--it was beautiful. Padme stood before the window, staring up at the night sky, her thoughts far too full for sleep to find her. She was dressed in the simple garb of a handmaiden, and had managed to slip out of her quarters with no one but R2-D2 noticing and giving chase--he was an… overprotective little droid, though very sweet to her.

“M’lady?” Padme looked over at the voice, and smiled stiffly at Lord Palpatine. “You’re up quite late.”

“The same could be said of yourself, Lord Palpatine,” she returned easily, turning back to continue gazing up at the moon. He chuckled softly.

“Quite so, m’lady,” he murmured. “Is something troubling you?”

Padme sighed and shook her head, though she did not tear her gaze away from the moon again. “A great many things are troubling me.”

“I am happy to listen, if you require a sympathetic ear,” he offered. Padme smiled again.

“That is kind of you. It’s only…” She paused, thinking quickly. They _knew_ that someone on the Royal Advisory Council, or very close to one of the Councilors, was trying to manipulate the information she received. And no matter how genuinely kind and altruistic Lord Palpatine seemed, no one could be trusted now. “Do you know that there used to be a bust of King Sanerie here?”

Lord Palpatine hummed. “Now that you mention it, I do recall that there was a bust here.”

“It was destroyed, during the Battle of Theed,” Padme told him. “We have yet to find the time to commission an artist for a replacement, and the empty space is… a reminder.” She shook her head. “I apologize, Lord Palpatine. I tend to grow… a bit morose, as the anniversary of the Battle nears.”

“You need not apologize to me, m’lady,” Lord Palpatine sighed. “It was a trying time for all of us, though for you especially. You were all quite brave to follow the Queen into battle at such a young age. Your dedication is to be commended.”

“You are too kind; we did only what was necessary.”

“You did far more than that,” Lord Palpatine protested. “You gave our people _hope_ when they had none. That is powerful, and not to be underestimated.”

Padme looked at him again, and smiled more genuinely at that. She nodded. “Thank you, Lord Palpatine.” With a final nod and a curtsey, Padme pulled her cloak tighter around her. “I should be getting to bed.”

“Of course. I hope you find rest.”

Impulsively, Padme reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “You are a kind man, Lord Palpatine. The queen is fortunate to have you on the Council.”

He smiled softly at her, and she squeezed his arm once before letting go. With a final, lingering look up at the moon, Padme turned back down the hall.

For some reason, instead of feeling reassured, she only felt… cold. Somehow, she was certain she would not sleep well.

* * *

Mygeeto sent word that they were declining the invitation, though they wished them “most happiness and renewed joy” for Freedom Day; Padme learned that the native species of Mygeeto were all very reclusive, and rarely left their planet, let alone the system, and she was not offended that they declined. Tatooine, Geonosis, and Onderon, however, all eagerly accepted.

Tatooine had commed directly to accept, and Padme had smiled at the weathered old woman. This was their monarch, she recalled, although she most remembered her as the kind woman from the marketplace who had warned Anakin about the storm, and given them all fruits the following morning as they left, refusing to accept any offer of payment for them.

“Majesty,” the woman greeted her, and she passed a hand over her brow. “I am Ma Jira; I Speak for my brothers and sisters here on Tatooine.” Padme hesitated for a moment, trying to recall the brief lesson Anakin had given her in his culture, and then she pressed her fingers to her lips, and then over her heart, to honor the woman’s name. Ma Jira blinked at her in surprise, and then smiled, and bowed her head.

“It is a pleasure, Ma Jira,” Padme said honestly, hoping that the woman could see her genuine happiness even through the layers of caked-on white and red adorning her face. “I would be most pleased, and grateful, if you would wish to join us for Freedom Day.”

Ma Jira’s smile grew even wider, the twinkling of her eyes visible even over the holo. “To break the chains of an entire world is difficult, and to be remembered, and celebrated,” Ma Jira said, nodding decisively. “This, we know. We are happy to rejoice with you.”

Padme nodded, her own smile growing. “Thank you.”

“I do wish to give you a… word of warning,” Ma Jira said slowly, her smile turning somewhat exasperated. “There are many of our people here who have integrated themselves into the culture of Mandalore. They are still citizens of Tatooine, and many of them reside here, or at least return frequently, but I wished to warn you that the emissaries we are sending will bear their armor, when they come.”

Padme blinked. She recalled that Shmi Skywalker had become Mandalorian, as Obi-Wan himself had. She had thought she’d heard rumors of Jango Fett attempting to cash in on a Trade Federation bounty for Obi-Wan, during the slave revolt, but… perhaps that had been a ruse. It certainly stood to reason that the now-freed slaves would have an interest in the culture of one of those who had… “broken their chains,” Padme thought the correct use of the phrase was.

She smiled again at Ma Jira and nodded. “Thank you for the warning. I shall be sure not to mistake them for representatives of Mandalore.”

Ma Jira laughed and nodded. “My people have already chosen their representatives from among our Speakers: Cliegg Lars and Birna Starstrider. Birna and her wife, who will be accompanying her, are both Mandalorian. If it is acceptable to you, Lars has a young child, Owen, he would also like to bring.”

Padme smiled. “Of course. Children are sacred to the Naboo, and separating a family is simply not done.”

Ma Jira looked pleased, and she nodded deeply. “Thank you, Majesty. They will arrive five days before the celebration, if that is acceptable.”

“It is,” Padme confirmed, nodding again. Ma Jira smiled; they exchanged brief pleasantries and well-wishes before the call ended. Padme turned to Captain Panaka. “Well, now I am beginning to understand how they are earning a reputation for their military prowess, if they are becoming Mandalorian.” He chuckled and nodded. Padme’s smile twisted into a more thoughtful expression. “Though that does give me an idea.”

Captain Panaka’s expression fell, and Padme _almost_ felt guilty. She knew that she drove him mad, at times, and that her “ideas” usually created more work for him. But she was Queen, and she could not be _idle_.

“There are a great many _other_ worlds who are also not a part of the Republic,” she said slowly. “Several have reached out to _us_ , but why should the onus be on _them_?” She nodded to herself. “Gather my advisors. I wish to discuss which other worlds we might invite to our celebration.”


	18. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZANOUSHE!!!
> 
> This extra chapter is for you! :D Thanks for all your reviews!

Anakin was  _ cold _ , and he was  _ wet _ , and he just couldn’t stop  _ shivering _ . His plan had  _ worked _ , and he’d been able to melt a hole in the ice door big enough for him to push himself through, but he’d gotten covered in ice-cold water in doing so. But it would only be for a while, Anakin tried to tell himself--just until he found his Master. Then they would go back to the main chamber together, and they’d both warm up again.

He nodded to himself, focusing on thinking about getting  _ warm _ even as he kept part of his attention on his bond with Obi-Wan. It was still burning bright, a familiar presence at the back of his mind, and that, at least, was a comfort.

It meant that Obi-Wan wasn’t dead, which meant Anakin could still save him. So that was something.

Anakin paused at another junction in the ice caves and closed his eyes, examining the bond. Which way had Obi-Wan gone?  _ Go left _ , the Force seemed to whisper, and Anakin nodded decisively and moved into the left tunnel. It was long, and dark, except for the multi-colored threads that suffused the entire cave system, emanating from various crystals. At his hip, his crystals were chiming loud and clear again, seeming to syncronize with his heartbeat--the drum to their song.

He grinned--Master Obi-Wan was going to be so  _ proud of him _ , Anakin knew, when he showed him his ‘saber. It looked just like it had in the dream, and he knew that meant he’d done it right, and done it well--

Anakin blinked as he finally reached the end of the curved tunnel, and then let out a wordless growl of frustration: he was back at the beginning  _ again _ . He’d been taken back to the start, standing just on the other side of the ice door from the atrium,  _ three times _ .

He huffed, his hands clenching into fists, and he started to turn back around, back into the caves to try to find Master Obi-Wan  _ again _ , but then--

Something  _ tugged _ at his mind, an almost familiar  _ Light _ , a presence behind the other side of the door… Anakin turned back, frowning. He closed his eyes and looked at it in the Force, and then his eyes flew open again: there were other Jedi in the atrium, now. Maybe he could ask them for help--he was sure one of them had to be a Master, because Initiates and Padawans never came  _ alone _ to Ilum--

Anakin took a deep, steadying breath, and switched on his ‘saber. He took it in both hands and then plunged it into the ice. As it had before, the ice popped and cracked as the ‘saber went through it, and then began to melt. It was slow-going, at first, but soon more and more was starting to melt away--

“Stand back!” He heard someone yell from the other side of the door. Anakin frowned and pulled his ‘saber out of the ice; he had made a small hole, too small to really see through--the ice was just so  _ thick _ \--but he stepped up to it to speak through it.

“You’re a Jedi?” he called back. The person snorted.

“Of course I am,” the voice said--and it sounded somewhat familiar, like they’d met once or twice, the same familiarity that Anakin had felt through the Force with their particular, swirling light. “Only Jedi come to Ilum. Now, stand back, kiddo. I’m going to break the ice. We’ll get you out of there.”

“Roger that!” Anakin said, a smile growing on his face. Hopefully whatever they did to get through the door didn’t take as long as melting it did. Anakin disengaged his ‘saber and clipped it back to his belt, moving back down the corridor a ways and staring at the door.

“You clear?” the voice yelled--even then, it was muffled. Anakin thought that if he hadn’t made that hole, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it at all.

“I’m clear!” No response came, and Anakin frowned--they must not have heard him. Opening himself to the Force, he tried to send a message as he did with Obi-Wan, but instead of thinking it down the bond, he  _ shoved _ it into the Force.

“Ouch,  _ chssk. _ Definitely heard that!” the voice yelled, and Anakin bit his lip. It was just so hard to judge how  _ loud _ he was, because he couldn’t exactly see how he looked and felt to other people in the Force, but Master Obi-Wan told him that he was a lot brighter and a lot  _ louder _ than other people, when he wasn’t shielding, because he was so powerful in the Force. He hoped he hadn’t given the man a headache, as he sometimes unintentionally did to Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.

A moment later, his train of thought was interrupted as he heard a  _ snap _ , and a loud  _ crack _ , and then--

Anakin gasped as the door suddenly  _ shattered _ , huge chunks of ice flying forward, towards him, and then stopping mid-air, floating. Through the debris of ice, Anakin got his first look at the Jedi in the atrium. There were only two of them, a human or near-human with dreadlocks, tan skin, and a yellow stripe across his face, wearing dark robes and a heavy leather jacket edged with fur; he looked like he was concentrating hard, both hands outstretched, and the ice slowly began to fall to the ground. Anakin darted forward into the atrium, mindful of how fast the door froze back over, and then he stopped, looking at the other Jedi. She was a blue-skinned Twi’lek with brown leather cords binding her lekku, a silka bead attached to them denoting her as a Padawan; she sported one of the same heavy, puffy blue coats Anakin was wearing.

“Will you help me save my Master?” Anakin asked, looking back to the Master. The man blinked at him, and then frowned.

“What happened?”

“I can’t find him,” Anakin said in a rush. “I found my crystals, and came out, but he wasn’t here, he was still in the caves. So I built my ‘saber so I could get back through the door to go get him--I melted a hole in it, like I was trying to do when I realized you were here, and then I went back in to try to find him, but it was almost like the Force didn’t  _ want _ me to find him, because I was using it and asking it to lead me to him, but it kept pointing me down paths that led back  _ here _ \--”

“Woah, okay, slow down, kid,” the Master commanded, stepping forward to put a hand on either shoulder. He frowned as he felt how wet Anakin’s coat was. He looked at his Padawan. “Padawan, grab him something dry to wear from the ship, will you?”

“On it, Master!” she said cheerfully, nodding and darting back out towards the open ice plains.

“Anakin Skywalker, yeah?” the Master asked. Anakin nodded, and the man smiled at him, but his eyes were dark and flickering. “Quinlan Vos.”

“Oh!” Anakin exclaimed. That explained why the man would feel somewhat familiar. “You’re Master Obi-Wan’s friend!”

Master Vos laughed. “When he deigns to acknowledge that, yeah.” Anakin frowned, wondering what that meant, but put it aside--it wasn’t important right now.

“If you’re his friend, then I’m sure you’ll help me save him--”

Master Vos laughed again and shook his head. “Obi-Wan’s probably fine, kiddo. When he was here last time, to find his first crystal, he was in there for  _ two days _ before he came out. He just takes a while.”

Anakin blinked, and then scowled. “But I found  _ two crystals _ and  _ built a lightsaber _ and he still wasn’t back! He… I couldn’t really have done all that before he even  _ found _ his crystal. Could I have?”

Master Vos shrugged. “Apparently so. If the Force was directing you back to the atrium, then I think you’re right, and it  _ didn’t  _ want you to find him. Finding a crystal is… a very personal thing. The Force just didn’t want you to interfere, and I’m sure it would’ve let you, if he needed saving.” Anakin huffed. It was clear that the Master just didn’t  _ get it _ \-- “Tell you what, kid. If Obi-Wan’s not back by the time the ice door starts to freeze over again tomorrow night, then  _ I’ll _ go in and get him. Fair?”

Anakin clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to just  _ give up,  _ but the Force had made it clear that it wasn’t going to help him find Master Obi-Wan, and without the Force, it was pretty much  _ impossible _ to navigate the tunnels in the cave, so he’d definitely need Master Vos’s help…

“Fine,” Anakin said, his shoulders slumping as the fight went out of him. He suddenly began to shiver in earnest, and Master Vos sighed.

“Aayla will be back in a minute with dry clothes,” he murmured. “Let me help you out of those, yeah?

Anakin tried to nod, but he was shaking now far too badly to really do so. Master Vos sensed his agreement and smiled tightly again. Anakin tried to reach up to unzip the coat, but his hands were trembling as he shivered, and he gave up quickly. Master Vos was gentle as he unzipped the coat and peeled the wet fabric away from him. Anakin flinched back when Master Vos tried to undo his belt, his crystals chiming high and fast, a clear protest at being separated from him, but he forced himself to stand still. Master Vos set it right down beside him, keeping the ‘saber as close as he could, and then he began peeling off the wet tunics. Padawan Secura returned, then, and set the bundle of clean clothes on his pack rather than the cold stone floor before respectfully turning away to give him privacy while Master Vos helped him change.

Finally, Anakin was in clean,  _ dry _ clothes, and Padawan Secura handed him a dry coat, which he pulled on quickly, and gratefully, still shivering. Exhausted, Anakin sank down unceremoniously to the ground, not bothering to reaffix his belt, just grabbing his lightsaber off of it and holding it tightly in both hands. The chiming of the crystals calmed.

“I’m impressed,” Master Vos said, sinking down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Padawan Secura moved to sit beside her Master, both of them facing Anakin. “You managed to build your lightsaber all by yourself?” Anakin nodded and absently noted that the chattering of his teeth was starting to calm. “And I can feel even from here how tuned your crystals already are to you.” Anakin ventured a smile, and he nodded again. The crystals seemed to…  _ croon _ with pleasure at that. “Technically, you  _ are _ supposed to have another Jedi look it over before you first ignite it.” Anakin frowned, hugging it a little closer to his chest in defiance of the unspoken request.

“I want Master Obi-Wan to be the first I show it to,” he muttered, and Master Vos nodded slowly.

“That’s fine, kiddo. Clearly, since I saw you using it, it’s not going to blow up on us between now and then,” he said with a wink. Anakin snorted and shook his head, relaxing slightly.

“Why are you guys here?” Anakin asked as the thought finally occurred to him. “Do you need new crystals?”

“No. We were sent to fetch the two of you,” Master Vos said slowly. “We’re all needed on the other end of the galaxy in a few weeks, and there wasn’t time to wait until you two were done here to send a message. Aayla and I were the closest to Ilum--we were on Ansion--so the Council sent us.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, frowning. “Where are we going next?”

Master Vos’s grin was broad and toothy, a knowing gleam in his eyes as he answered, “Naboo.”

Anakin’s frown deepened. “Is everything okay? Is Padme--I mean, Queen Amidala--is she okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Master Vos assured him. “The Order wanted to send representatives to observe Freedom Day with them. The Council thought it best to return you, Obi-Wan, Master Jinn, and a few others.”

Anakin finally smiled again at that. “Oh. That’s… good.”

Master Vos snorted, but nodded. “It is. The Order is trying to show other systems that we want to work with them, even if they aren’t part of the Republic.”

Anakin nodded slowly, his smile widening. It was exactly what he’d always thought the Jedi should be doing! Maybe this meant that they could stop the Republic from going to war against the other systems who weren’t part of it, and maybe even if they  _ did _ go to war, the Jedi wouldn’t have to fight in it. They could just provide aide, go where they were actually  _ needed _ \--

Anakin yawned suddenly, interrupting his own train of thought. Aayla giggled and reached into her own pack, handing him a blanket.

“Why don’t you rest a bit? We have quite some time yet before morning, and nearly sixteen hours until the ice door will freeze over again tomorrow evening.”

Anakin nodded slowly, trying to smile at her. “ _ Vor’e _ .” She blinked in surprise at him, but smiled back. He nodded once more and laid down, using his pack as a pillow--it was far more comfortable serving that purpose, now, than it had been with all of his metal lightsaber components rattling around inside. Pulling the blanket over himself, Anakin drifted off to sleep in the space of a few breaths.

* * *

When Anakin woke, it was to that distant confusion that came from sleeping deeply and waking abruptly. Slowly, he reached out his senses as he blinked his eyes open, and he remembered--

Sitting up quickly, Anakin quickly looked at the door, which was only just starting to freeze over. He huffed and stood, and then froze as a familiar voice called out to him: “Padawan!”

Anakin whirled around, and there, standing only a few feet away, looking tired, his eyes red, shoulders slumped, an angry bruise blossoming on his cheek, his hair in some disarray, but  _ whole _ and  _ there _ , was Master Obi-Wan. Anakin launched himself at his Master, catching him around the middle. Master Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around Anakin.

“I was so  _ worried  _ about you!” Anakin said without releasing him. Master Obi-Wan squeezed him tighter for a moment.

“I’m alright,” Master Obi-Wan murmured. He allowed Anakin to cling to him for a few moments longer before drawing back, though he kept one hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Quinlan told me what happened. You had quite the adventure, hmm?”

Anakin nodded, and to his shame, tears started to tug at his eyes. He sniffled, wondering if he could blame it on the cold air, and tried to smile. “I built my ‘saber already! I was trying to come rescue you, and I didn’t know how else to get through the ice wall, so I asked my crystals to help, and I built my ‘saber. Then I  _ did _ get through, but the Force didn’t want me to find you, and--”

Master Obi-Wan smiled gently and squeezed his shoulder. “Breathe, Ani.  _ Udesii _ . I’m alright, and I’m sorry for taking so long.” Anakin gave him a watery smile, and Master Obi-Wan beamed back at him. “And I’m very proud of you,  _ vod’ika.  _ To build your first ‘saber on your own is quite a feat.”

Anakin’s own smile widened, and he held up the lightsaber he still had yet to let go of, offering it to Master Obi-Wan for inspection, as he  _ should _ have done before the first time he tried it. Master Obi-Wan took it with a serious nod, and closed his eyes, wrapping both hands around it and looking at it through the Force. Finally, he opened his eyes again, smiling once more. “It’s a fine blade, Padawan. Show me?”

He nodded eagerly and accepted it back, taking a few steps to the side before switching it on, the white-edged-with-blue blade springing forth. Anakin looked over at Master Obi-Wan, eager to see his reaction. Master Obi-Wan just blinked at him, his eyes flicking over the blade, and then he laughed.

“I wasn’t actually expecting it to be that color,” he murmured. Anakin frowned.

“Why not?”

“White ‘sabers are… incredibly rare,” Master Obi-Wan said slowly, looking at him with something… heavy behind that gaze. Anakin felt its weight and swallowed hard. “They were more common before the last Sith War, when there were more Force-users who were  _ not _ Jedi--or Sith, for that matter. Then, a white ‘saber indicated that the Force-user held no allegiance to the Order or to the Sith. They were… neutral. Independent. But a white ‘saber… Your connection to the Force could only express itself in a  _ white _ lightsaber if you are balanced.”

Anakin blinked and disengaged the ‘saber. “Oh.”

And he  _ knew _ what Master Qui-Gon thought. He’d never said anything to Anakin  _ directly,  _ but he’d heard him, during the Naboo mission. Master Qui-Gon thought he was the Chosen One, the one who would kill the Sith and bring  _ balance  _ to the Force, and…

_ That _ was entirely too much to think about, right now. Anakin pushed it roughly aside, knowing it was too much to release into the Force without a  _ lot  _ of meditation. Instead he smiled and nodded.

“Wizard,” he said, and Master Obi-Wan snorted and smiled back. “Master Vos told me we’re going to Naboo!”

Master Obi-Wan’s eyes went stormy grey for a moment before he nodded slowly, his easy grin returning. “Yes. It will be a good first mission for you. But we’ll have to leave now--we won’t have an opportunity to return to the Temple, if we’re to make it to Naboo in time for Freedom Day, and the festivities before it.”

Anakin nodded,  _ relief  _ overtaking him. He was happy to have his crystals, but getting them had been… hard. Between the disturbing things he’d seen here, and the prospect of getting to see Padme--and maybe he could even see the pilots again, too--Anakin was all too happy to leave Ilum behind.

* * *

Master Vos and Padawan Secura were going to Naboo as well, Master Obi-Wan told him. Anakin had smiled at that; he hadn’t gotten the chance to know very many of his Master’s friends, besides Bant. They were all Knights already, and usually off on their own missions. The few times that they were in the Temple, they’d all just been too  _ busy _ to meet up with each other.

Anakin really hoped that he would still be able to see Sian and Asajj, when they were all Knights, but he knew that if they had to go, they had to go. It was the price of the life of a Jedi, as Obi-Wan had told him years ago. But maybe he could become mission partners with one of them, like Master Obi-Wan was with Master Qui-Gon. The thought made him smile.

The trip to Naboo was going to be a long one, but Anakin didn’t mind. He  _ liked _ spending time with Master Obi-Wan.

“We’ll need to refuel somewhere, about halfway through the journey,” Master Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully. He looked over at Anakin and grinned. “Would you like to help me choose our course?”

Anakin nodded eagerly and slipped into the co-pilot’s seat, peering at the maps carefully. Their first jump from Ilum would put them near Ansion, but that was just so they could reach the hyperlanes… After that, they could either go around the Core through the Mid-and-Outer-Rim lanes, and avoid the worst of the gravity wells, or they could go through the Core. He frowned at the maps, feeling for the Force.

“Uuuh, Corellia?”

Master Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Telling you.”

“Why Corellia?” Master Obi-Wan prompted.

“There’s a Temple there. They have agreements for lower fuel prices for Jedi, and the travel time will work out about the same, going through the Core with the gravity wells, as it would going the long way, through the Mid-and-Outer-Rim systems. The few hours or day that we might lose in travel time is outweighed by the money we save, stopping on a Jedi planet.”

Master Obi-Wan nodded, his smile growing. “I agree. Good argument, Padawan. Why don’t you lay in the coordinates for us?”

Anakin beamed at him and hurried to obey, smiling so much his cheeks hurt as Master Obi-Wan chuckled warmly.

* * *

He was somewhat disappointed that they wouldn’t actually get to stop on Corellia--they weren’t even  _ landing _ , instead docking with one of the many fuel stations in orbit. But, Anakin thought, it  _ did _ mean that they would get to Naboo that much sooner, if they didn’t waste time exploring. And he was hopeful he’d get to come back some day, with the Committee planning to propose an exchange program.

“Now, this should take an hour or so,” Master Obi-Wan said, and he lifted an eyebrow at Anakin. “I really should see to my  _ beskar’gam _ ; I’ve been lax in its maintenance the last few days. Do you think you could plot our next jump?”

Anakin nodded, smiling. Master Obi-Wan was trusting him with a lot of the flying and decisions, and it made him feel… warm. And proud, and-

He squawked as Master Obi-Wan ruffled his hair, smiling impishly at him. Anakin glared at him and folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m  _ way  _ too old for that, Master.”

Master Obi-Wan laughed and shook his head. “I must indulge myself while I can, Padawan; you’re going to be taller than I am, one day.” Anakin cracked a smile at the thought of towering over his Master, and Master Obi-Wan grinned and shook his head. “Not  _ that much _ taller, Anakin. I’ll come to check the course and help prepare us for the jump when the refuel is done.” Anakin nodded back and scrambled to the co-pilot’s chair, bringing up the maps.

This was so much better than learning in  _ class _ .

* * *

It would take them about a week to get to Naboo, jumping straight down the Corellian Run. Anakin returned to working on his assignments for part of the day, while Obi-Wan went back to poring over his own datapads, and then they would meditate together, and then Anakin got to practice his katas. With his own  _ lightsaber _ this time. It felt like every time he held his ‘saber, the Force itself was… content, and every time he held the lit blade, with every kata he completed, the crystals sang in time with his heartbeat.

He thought he finally understood what the Crystal Code meant:

_ The crystal is the heart of the blade. _

_ The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. _

_ The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. _

_ The Force is the blade of the heart. _

_ All are intertwined. _

_ The crystal, the blade, the Jedi. _

_ You are one. _

Anakin certainly  _ felt _ like he was one with his crystals. They chimed, high and fluttering and pleased, at that thought.

There was so much to be  _ excited _ and  _ happy  _ about: they were going back to Naboo, not because anything was  _ wrong,  _ just to celebrate with Padme; Anakin had built his ‘saber on his own, and his crystals  _ liked him _ ; they would get to see Master Yan  _ and _ Master Qui-Gon on Naboo, too.

But still, Anakin couldn’t help but feel… uneasy. He couldn’t forget what he’d seen in the crystal caves--how could he have? And he kept dreaming about it, too. When Master Obi-Wan wasn’t looking, Anakin sometimes shot him furtive, curious glances. He had so many  _ questions,  _ but he didn’t know how to ask them, or how to explain  _ why  _ he was asking. Master Obi-Wan hadn’t asked him about finding his crystals, and Anakin hadn’t asked Master Obi-Wan what had taken him so long to find his. He  _ wanted to,  _ but… Anakin remembered what Master Vos had said, about finding a crystal being such a  _ personal _ thing, and he decided not to.

But he  _ wondered _ \--how old had Master Obi-Wan been, in that vision? Had that Sith been his first Padawan, his second? Maybe even his third, judging from how old he’d looked? Master Obi-Wan was definitely human, Anakin knew, and he could live to be up to  _ two hundred years old,  _ as a Force-user. And he’d certainly  _ seemed _ really old, the way he just wasn’t able to move as fast anymore, his hair completely white and wispy atop his head, the deep lines on his face.

And… where had  _ he  _ been? Oh, Anakin knew that he’d have been Knighted for a  _ long _ time, if Master Obi-Wan was that old, but even when he was a Knight and taking his own missions, if Master Obi-Wan was going to face a  _ Sith,  _ and Anakin was already a Knight with the skills he’d need to  _ help,  _ then there was just no way Anakin would let him go alone. So… where had he been? Why hadn’t he been able to  _ save  _ him?

Unless… Unless Anakin  _ hadn’t _ been Master Obi-Wan’s Padawan, in the vision. Unless Master Qui-Gon, or some other Master, had taken him on, or  _ no  _ Master had, and he’d gone to the ExploraCorps after all, and Master Obi-Wan hadn’t had the connection to him that they did now. The thought made him… sad. He  _ loved  _ Master Obi-Wan, and Master Obi-Wan loved him, too, and for them to miss out on that kind of bright feeling--that thought  _ hurt _ .

But Anakin didn’t know how to ask the questions he had, and he… honestly, he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted the answers. He had such a  _ bad feeling _ about all of it.

* * *

Finally, _finally,_ they reached Naboo. Anakin forced himself to focus on the landing as best he could with the excited mantra of _I’m-going-to-see-Padme-and-Jinto-and-Cyrus_ thrumming through his mind. Still, Master Obi-Wan did most of the work, bringing them into the hangar. They had been allowed to dock in one of the palace’s bays rather than a public hangar, and Anakin saw their greeting committee through the viewport. As soon as the ship touched down, Anakin sprang to his feet, bouncing on the balls of them. _Padme_ was out there, and Master Qui-Gon, and Master Yan, and _Jinto_ _and Cyrus._

“Oh, go on,” Master Obi-Wan said, looking up from the read-out to give him an amused grin. “I’ll finish the post-flight.”

Anakin whooped. “Thank you, Master!” Without further ado, he went to lower the ramp and exited, just barely managing to slow his steps and  _ trying  _ to look serene. He stopped just before them and bowed. “Masters, Your--”

“The Queen regrets that she could not welcome you herself,” Padme interrupted him, and Anakin grinned, recognizing the handmaiden ruse.

“Of course, Handmaiden Naberrie,” he said, and she smiled back. Feeling a little playful, he added, in what he was pretty sure was a passable imitation of the way Master Obi-Wan spoke, “I’m sure I can count on you to tell her how pleased we are to have been invited?”

She laughed and nodded. “Of course,” she repeated.

Anakin nodded and turned to Jinto and Cyrus. “Hi! It’s good to see you again.”

Their smiles were broad and easy, and Anakin was pleased to see that they looked well. “You too, kid,” Jinto said.

Anakin heard the engines finally winding down, and Master Obi-Wan emerged from the ship, his  _ buy’ce _ held under one hand. He stopped just in front of Anakin, and to the side, and bowed, though he also crossed his right fist over his chest.

“Handmaiden, Masters,” he greeted them, and then turned to Jinto and Cyrus, who were staring openly at his  _ beskar’gam _ . “Gentlemen. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that your lessons did not go amiss--Anakin is becoming quite the adept pilot.”

Jinto laughed brightly, and Cyrus snorted and shook his head. “He already was,” Cyrus said dryly. Anakin beamed, and Master Obi-Wan chuckled.

“I can show you to your rooms, if you’d like to settle in first,” Padme offered.

“Yes, thank you.”

A familiar, binary beeping caused Anakin to look over and smile at R2-D2, rolling towards them. He brightened and waved at the little droid. “Hi, Artoo!”

“ _ I must remain with you, _ ” R2-D2 beeped at him. Anakin laughed, but his smile disappeared into a glower as the droid continued, “ _ I must watch the reckless child-unit. _ ”

“I am  _ not _ reckless,” Anakin said, frowning at the droid. R2 beeped something Anakin’s  _ buir _ would have washed his mouth out with soap for repeating, and Master Obi-Wan would have made him meditate on  _ politeness _ for hours; Master Qui-Gon snorted, and Master Obi-Wan laughed outright. Anakin glared at them. “I’m not!” Master Obi-Wan just raised one eyebrow, and Anakin clenched his jaw, and decided to change tack. “I’ve been getting  _ better _ .”

“That much, I’ll give you,” Master Obi-Wan agreed. Anakin rolled his eyes, and Padme giggled.

“If you’ll follow me?”

* * *

Padme had set aside a large, comfortable room for them, between Master Qui-Gon’s room and Master Yan’s; Master Mace was on the other side of Master Yan. Anakin grinned as he saw the large windows overlooking green fields and waterfalls, the rest of the room going without much notice in his mind. In some ways, Coruscant was just as barren as Tatooine, except for the Room of a Thousand Fountains, of course. Even though he’d been to Naboo before, to see so much  _ green _ and  _ shimmering blue _ was a rare treat.

Anakin managed to tear his attention away from the view long enough to hear Padme and Master Obi-Wan speaking.

“We’ll be having dinner tonight with the visiting ambassadors,” Padme said.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit out of the loop. Who else was invited?” Master Obi-Wan asked politely.

“Onderon, Geonosis,” Padme paused and looked back behind Master Obi-Wan at Anakin, and she smiled, “Tatooine, and Mandalore.”

Master Obi-Wan blanched. “May I ask who Mandalore sent to represent them?” Anakin frowned. He sounded like… he already knew the answer, and was… resigned.

“Both the  _ Jorad’alor _ and the  _ Mand’alor _ sent representatives,” Padme said slowly, her grin turning a shade  _ wicked,  _ and she glanced at Anakin again. “Duchess Satine Kryze, the  _ Jorad’alor _ ’s daughter, is here on his behalf, and the  _ Mand’alor _ sent Shmi Skywalker.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. His  _ buir _ was  _ here?  _ On  _ Naboo?  _ And she’d come as an  _ ambassador? _ That was... 

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed. Padme laughed brightly.

“If I may… You might wish to seat me as far away from the Duchess as possible,” Master Obi-Wan sighed. Padme’s smile was knowing and she patted his arm.

“My apologies, Obi-Wan,” she said, although she didn’t sound very sorry. “The Duchess specifically requested to be seated directly across from you. The seating chart has already been decided.”

Master Obi-Wan sighed and bowed his head in defeat. “Of course.”

Padme laughed and shook her head. “She’s a rather… headstrong woman. I like her.”

Master Obi-Wan’s lips twitched, though Anakin couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a grimace. “She is rather remarkable.”

Padme turned to Anakin. “And I was having some difficulty picturing your mother as a Mandalorian. But after seeing her in her armor, I must say that it suits her.”

Anakin grinned broadly and nodded. “ _ Vor’e. _ ”

She nodded back. “Well, I’ll let you two get settled in, then.”

After Padme left, Anakin turned to Master Obi-Wan. “I thought the Duchess was your friend.”

Master Obi-Wan huffed and sank down into a plush blue velvet armchair near the window. Anakin glanced around the room, waiting for him to answer: there were two large, four-poster beds, with the same blue velvet hangings, and fluffy pillows. A door set into the wall between them probably led to an attached ‘fresher.

“We  _ are  _ friends, but it’s… complicated,” Master Obi-Wan finally sighed.

“Does this have to do with the fight you had, on Concord Dawn?” Anakin asked, frowning as he went to sit in the armchair next to Master Obi-Wan’s. “Because, well… if you’re good enough friends, you’ll get past it.”

Master Obi-Wan grimaced. “I’m not so certain of that. She… asked for something I could not give,” he said vaguely. Master Obi-Wan sighed, and then shook his head. “But nevermind all that. It’s one dinner; I have endured worse before. I’m certain it will be fine.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow at him. “If you’re sure, Master.”

* * *

“And what is the correct form of address for the representative from Onderon?”

Anakin resisted the urge to scowl, or sigh. Master Yan’s etiquette questioning had gone on for what felt like  _ hours,  _ and it was taking some of the excitement out of the dinner. He’d been drilled in  _ everything,  _ from what topics to avoid, to which fork to use for each course.

“Lady Bonteri.”

Master Yan nodded. “Correct. I suppose you are as prepared as you can be.”

“Does that mean we’re done?” Anakin asked hopefully. Master Yan raised an eyebrow at him, and Anakin flushed. “Master.”

One corner of Master Yan’s mouth twitched up. “Yes, young one. We should be going, now. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

The dinner was to take place in one of the formal dining rooms--and it wasn’t at all like the comfortable, bright room near the kitchens they’d eaten in the last time they were on Naboo. This room was done up in stately reds and blacks, with a long, lacquered wooden table, already beautifully set. A large, silver chandelier dominated the room, although Anakin was, again, most taken in by the view: this room of the palace overlooked the city, and as it began to grow dark, he could see all of the little lights inside the houses, and the reflections off of the water were pretty.

Everyone was milling about, when they arrived. Master Obi-Wan’s shields went up high, and Anakin resisted the urge to sigh. He must be more upset about seeing the Duchess again than he’d let on, at first.

“Oh my! Can it be? Master Ani!” He looked over at the familiar voice and blinked.

“3PO?” he said as the droid made its way over. He grinned--it  _ was _ C-3PO. He was glad to see someone had finished him, giving him brightly polished silver coverings.

“By the Maker--it  _ is _ the Maker!” the droid cried. “Oh, Master Ani, how glad I am to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, 3PO!” Anakin said, beaming up at the droid. “And I’m glad you finally got finished. Sorry I couldn’t do that before I had to go.”

“You made this droid?” Master Mace asked.

“Yeah, I took him home from Watto’s shop, and I was working on him before Master Qui-Gon found me,” Anakin explained. Master Mace exchanged a  _ look  _ with Master Obi-Wan, who shrugged, and then stiffened. A moment later, Anakin understood why as he saw the woman walking towards them.

Duchess Satine was pretty. Not as pretty as Padme, of course, but still beautiful. Her blonde hair was swept back, and she had lilies in her hair; she was wearing a long, dark purple dress with brighter blue embroidery, and holding two drinks. Striding right up to Master Obi-Wan, she held one out.

“Master Jedi,” she said, her voice silky and somehow  _ dangerous,  _ sending a little thrill down Anakin’s spine, “I do believe there is a conversation we never had the opportunity to finish. If you wouldn’t mind parting with him…?” That was directed at the rest of them.

“By all means, Duchess,” Master Mace said. The Duchess smirked, and Master Obi-Wan shot Master Mace a look of betrayal before seeming to resign himself to his fate. He took a large swallow of what Anakin was certain  _ wasn’t _ brandy, but  _ was _ definitely alcoholic, from the smell.

“ _ Tihaar? _ ” Master Obi-Wan said.

“A gift, for the Queen,” the Duchess said, and then she lifted her chin, and Master Obi-Wan sighed, and offered her his arm. Her smile was toothy, and almost… predatory. Anakin wondered what they were really subjecting Master Obi-Wan to, and almost wished he could follow them, but Master Qui-Gon laid a hand on his shoulder.

“They need to have this discussion,” he said softly. Anakin nodded slowly.

“ _ There  _ you are! You can’t just  _ run off,  _ 3PO! What if Dad or Speaker Birna needed to talk to one of the Geonosians?” Anakin looked over at the new voice--it was another kid, probably about his age, maybe just a bit younger. He had sandy blonde hair, curling just a bit at the ends, and the same Outer-Rim accent Anakin did. The boy paused, looking up at all of them. “Uh, hi! I’m Owen Lars.”

“My deepest apologies--”

Anakin blinked--he  _ knew _ that name. Realization came to him, and he cut off 3PO’s apology and blurted out, “Your dad gave me the pump I needed to fix Watto’s vaporator! And he always shared water with us, when he had a good harvest.”

Owen blinked at him, and then beamed. “You’re Anakin? I remember you! We all crammed into the cantina to watch it live, when you raced in the Boonta Eve. That was really wizard!”

Anakin nodded, grinning in return. “Thanks!”

“Do you wanna talk to my dad? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you again!” Owen said. Anakin glanced back at the Masters, and Master Qui-Gon gave him an encouraging smile, and Master Mace nodded. Master Yan quirked an eyebrow, but he seemed pleased, too.

“That’d be nice,” Anakin agreed, and allowed Owen to lead him through the crowd of strange people to Owen Lars. He paused as he saw who the man was already speaking to. “ _ Buir! _ ”

His mother looked up, and her smile was so radiant that Anakin couldn’t help the bright laugh that escaped him.

“ _ Su’cuy, ad’ika, _ ” she greeted him, leaning down to hug him and press their foreheads together. “Cliegg, I’m sure you remember Anakin?”

“I do,” Cliegg Lars confirmed. He looked… happier than Anakin remembered him being. He’d always been nice, but he’d seemed… sad, and stressed, before. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, sir!” Anakin answered honestly. “I was just telling Owen that I remember you, too.”

They didn’t get much of a chance to speak as the high, clear bell that signalled dinnertime chimed. Anakin bowed to them and gave his  _ buir _ a smile that promised they’d talk more later before darting over to take his seat beside Master Obi-Wan, whose expression looked pinched, although only someone who knew him well would have been able to notice. He wondered what the Duchess had said to him, but knew that now wasn’t the time to ask.

Anakin  _ was _ pleased when his  _ buir _ took the seat beside the Duchess, directly across from him. Padme sat at the head of the table, with her advisors around her, and Master Mace beside her as well--and it was  _ actually  _ her, for once, under the heavy makeup. Even with that, she was so  _ beautiful. _ She was wearing a dramatic, flowing red gown, sleeveless, with a high neck, edged with white, and a white headdress.

“Thank you all for coming,” Padme began, smiling at them. “Naboo is honored by your presences here. I know that many of you are already friends, and I am glad of it; for those of you unfamiliar with your present company, I hope to welcome you into the bonds of friendship we have already begun to form here.

“This  _ is _ a time of celebration, and so as the saying goes: let us eat, drink, and be merry.”

Anakin blinked as the Geonosians  _ clicked  _ and  _ trilled _ , and then C-3PO spoke up to translate: “Very good, Majesty! We look forward to the drinking, which will lead to its own merriment.”

A ripple of polite chuckling went around the table, and Anakin snorted lightly. Padme smiled widely and nodded before sitting, signalling the start of the meal.

The palace didn’t use serving droids--they used relatively few droids at all, in their everyday lives, Anakin knew. As a general rule, the Naboo tried to keep their technology discreet and to a minimum, believing that it conflicted with nature, and their Goddess. Instead, human servers stepped forward to deliver the first course. Anakin noticed it was different for many of them, but that made sense, given the difference in species. He  _ thought _ most of them were human, except for the Geonosians, but even humans started to develop different diets if they were on different worlds or systems for long enough. Usually it only took a few generations before differences started to crop up.

Anakin didn’t hesitate over which fork to use, and he caught an approving look from Master Yan that made him smile. The food was good, something light and vaguely sweet, almost like a soup or a broth, but thicker. It was difficult to pay attention to his meal, however, as conversations started around them. Speaker Birna and her wife drew Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan into a spirited debate about… some sort of poetry, of all things, as Cliegg and Owen continued speaking with Shmi, with Cliegg seated on Shmi’s other side.

The Duchess grinned at Master Obi-Wan, but it was lacking any real warmth. Anakin shivered again. Master Obi-Wan reached for his drink.

“I heard that you were out in the field, before coming to Naboo,” the Duchess said. Master Obi-Wan nodded.

“Yes. We went to find the crystal for Anakin’s ‘saber--well,  _ crystals,  _ as it turned out.”

The Duchess smiled wanly at Anakin before turning back to Master Obi-Wan. “I am pleased to hear that you recovered from the injuries you received on Concord Dawn enough to travel.”

And she  _ was _ pleased that Master Obi-Wan was well, Anakin could feel it in the Force, but she was also… angry? It didn’t make a lot of sense.

Master Obi-Wan hummed and nodded. “I was very nearly fully healed by the time we returned to Coruscant,” he said. “The  _ Mand’alor _ took great pains to ensure I was well looked after.”

The Duchess bristled, her expression becoming pinched, and Anakin suddenly understood. She was a  _ New Mandalorian,  _ a pacifist, and she didn’t like Jango Fett because of it. So when Master Obi-Wan had sworn to the  _ Resol’nare…  _ That would be enough to make a pacifist angry.

“I only got the chance to see Concord Dawn,” Anakin broke in. The Duchess blinked at him. “Is it true that on  _ Manda’yaim,  _ all of the big cities are enclosed in giant domes?”

“It is.”

“They must be  _ huge, _ ” Anakin said, frowning as he tried to picture a dome enclosing a city like Theed. “What are they made out of? Are they enclosed artificial ecosystems? Are the domes only for the cities, or are there farms in there too?”

The Duchess laughed brightly, smiling. She seemed pleased by his curiosity, and Anakin grinned back, satisfaction fluttering through him, having achieved his goal of redirecting her focus away from Master Obi-Wan.

“They’re made largely of durasteel, with some  _ beskar _ reinforcements at critical points,” the Duchess told him. “And it is a closed system; we use the same shield generators that ships do for landing bays, to allow vessels passage in and out without compromising the air quality inside of the dome. There are no farms within the domes, but there are many rooftop gardens and public gardens throughout the cities. Farming on Mandalore itself is done outside of the domes, but within dedicated greenhouses. Much of food still needs to be imported from other worlds like Concord Dawn, however. Even with the greenhouses, the yield isn’t enough for all of us.”

“Huh,” Anakin said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if that might work on Tatooine. Terraforming is still too experimental and expensive, and they’d have to do the entire  _ planet _ to make it work, but… maybe they could use the same kinds of domes to create at least some farm lands. If it’s a closed system, water could be introduced that wouldn’t just evaporate immediately…”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Padawan,” Master Obi-Wan praised him. Anakin beamed.

“That  _ is _ quite an idea,” Cliegg said thoughtfully. Anakin hadn’t noticed them turning to pay attention to their conversation, but he flushed and nodded, still grinning. Cliegg stretched forward to see the Duchess around Anakin’s  _ buir,  _ who politely leaned back. “Perhaps we could discuss a trade agreement during our time here. Your designs would give us a nice headstart on a project like that.”

The Duchess nodded slowly and smiled at him. “I would be happy to discuss it with you. Perhaps after the tour of the palace tomorrow?”

Cliegg nodded, grinning at her. “Ah,  _ vor entye _ . I hope you’ll forgive me if I butchered that.”

The Duchess laughed brightly. “You didn’t.  _ Ba’gedet’ye _ .”

Cliegg nodded once more before leaning back. The Duchess turned back to Master Obi-Wan again, and Anakin’s mind whirled as he tried to think of something, anything, to say to draw her focus again--

He didn’t have to, as they were given another reprieve as the servers came around again to collect their dishes from the first course and deliver the second.

_ Only three more courses, after this one, before we can escape,  _ Master Obi-Wan’s thought drifted down the bond. Anakin bit his lip to keep from laughing and gently kicked his leg under the table, wincing as his toes met  _ beskar _ boots through the leather of his own boots. He felt-heard Master Obi-Wan’s mental equivalent of a sigh.

_ Unless the poor Padawan gets a stomach ache,  _ he sent back, offering his Master an escape route if they needed one quickly. Master Obi-Wan sent a pulse of affection down the bond, but shook his head slightly.

“We had so little time on Concord Dawn, Ani,” his  _ buir _ cut in smoothly. “Perhaps I could watch some of your training, if there is time?”

Master Obi-Wan grinned. “I had planned to take tomorrow morning for lightsaber practice. You’re more than welcome to join us, if that conflicts with nothing else.”

It was then that Anakin noticed the other curious gazes from around the table, and he flushed, knowing that they were all eager to watch him, but he hadn’t even really tried  _ sparring _ yet with his new ‘saber, he’d only done a few katas, and what if he made a mistake in front of all these important people--

“I would be very interested in seeing a demonstration myself, if you wouldn’t mind. Although Her Majesty did invite us to view the Royal Gardens tomorrow morning, so perhaps another time?” Anakin smiled grateful at Lady Bonteri, and the others wilted slightly.

“I’m certain we can excuse Lady Skywalker from our tour,” Padme said, smiling gently at them. “Duchess Satine, I assume you can bear the weight of Mandalore’s representation while we take a relaxing stroll amongst the flowers?”

The Duchess laughed brightly, as did many of those around them. “I shall simply have to grin and bear it, Your Majesty.”

The moment was broken as the servers stepped forward again, and Anakin huffed.  _ Only two more courses, _ he thought.

He was starting to understand why Master Obi-Wan didn’t like politics much.

* * *

It wasn’t all that late, when the dinner was finally over, but Anakin was  _ exhausted.  _ He had been so on  _ edge  _ the whole time, so  _ tense,  _ like he sometimes was during a spar, waiting for the next attack. He’d been waiting to say the wrong thing, and offend someone, or for all of the ambassadors to start fighting, but…

The last half of the dinner had gone fairly well. The Duchess had quickly been occupied by the Geonosians--and Anakin felt a little flutter of pride every time he watched C-3PO translating for them--and that left Master Obi-Wan to schmooze with Lady Bonteri and Lord Palpatine, the former Senator. Master Mace, up at the head of the table beside Padme, seemed deep in conversation with her and Lord Bibble. Anakin got to spend the rest of the meal talking to Cliegg, Owen, and his  _ buir,  _ discussing the changes on Tatooine since the uprising.

Still, by the time Anakin got back to the room he was sharing with Master Obi-Wan, he was…  _ drained. _

He flopped down on one of the beds, face-down. Master Obi-Wan clucked his tongue and walked over to begin pulling off his boots.

“You know the rules, Padawan.”

“I know, I know. No boots on the bed,” he said, though it was muffled as he said it into the plush, fluffy duvet. Turning his face, he said more clearly, “I’m just so  _ tired. _ How do you and Master Qui-Gon do it? All those negotiations, talking to all those ambassadors all the time…”

Master Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I am feeling oddly tired myself. Curious.” Anakin lifted himself enough that he could turn to see his Master’s face; Master Obi-Wan was frowning, his brow furrowed, staring at the floor with one hand stroking his beard, the other folded across his chest to rest on his raised arm.

“What’s it mean?” Anakin asked.

Master Obi-Wan seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought he’d been contemplating, and he looked up and shrugged, an easy grin returning to his face. “I haven’t the slightest idea, Padawan. But all we can do is to be more vigilant, and hope that if there is some problem, and it isn’t just hyperspace lag, the Force will see fit to guide us to a solution. Now, up you get; you still need to brush your teeth.”

Anakin groaned as he turned his face back into the blanket. He  _ would  _ get up, but just… in a minute. After he rested for a bit--

He yelped as Master Obi-Wan  _ tickled _ the sole of his bare foot, jerking himself upright and glaring at his Master. Master Obi-Wan only laughed at him and shook his head.

“ _ Up,  _ Padawan.”

Feeling perhaps the slightest bit  _ cranky-- _ not that he would admit to it, because he was no  _ adiik,  _ not anymore--Anakin glowered and, without turning to look at it, used the Force to  _ fling _ one of the pillows behind him at Master Obi-Wan. It missed his face by only an inch or so, falling to the floor behind him, and Master Obi-Wan laughed brightly, shaking his head.

“ _ Not _ what I meant by ‘up,’ Anakin,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And your fine control of the Force could use some work, hmm? Perhaps we’ll make time for it in tomorrow’s lessons.” There was an impish gleam in his eyes, and Anakin huffed a laugh despite himself.

He rolled his own eyes, just  _ barely  _ resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. “Yes, Master.”

Master Obi-Wan chuckled again. “Brush your teeth, imp.  _ Then _ I will leave you to sleep.”

Anakin sighed and pulled himself up, making a show of shuffling slowly to the ‘fresher, grinning at Master Obi-Wan’s snort of laughter at the display. He brushed his teeth quickly, and, knowing he would feel better if he did, took the time to wash his face. He yawned and stretched as he turned back to head into their room.

“I’m sorry, Padawan, but there’s something I need to do. I’ll be out for a time,” Master Obi-Wan said as soon as he came into view. Anakin stopped and frowned at him.

“‘M awake,” he sighed. “I’ll put my boots back on--”

But Master Obi-Wan shook his head. “There’s someone I need to speak to, and… I’m sorry for it, but you can’t be allowed to hear this.”

Anakin’s frown became an outright glower. “Is this vision-stuff I shouldn’t know  _ yet,  _ or is it… Master-stuff that the Council says you can’t talk about?”

Master Obi-Wan grimaced. “Both.”

Anakin folded his arms over his chest. “Is it going to be dangerous?”

“Not in the slightest,” Master Obi-Wan assured him. “I’m only… speaking to an old friend.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “Promise you’ll tell me what you can after you tell me about the rest of the vision?”

Master Obi-Wan smiled and nodded. “ _ Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it. _ ”

Anakin nodded more firmly this time. “Fine. But I’m waiting up for you.”

Master Obi-Wan’s smile became a smirk. “Of course.”

* * *

Anakin didn’t know how much time had passed when he startled awake. He’d settled down in one of the armchairs, rather than the bed, determined to wait for Master Obi-Wan to get back--

And then he’d fallen asleep. He glanced back at the window, but it had already started to get dark when they went to have dinner, so the blackness outside couldn’t really tell him much. Shaking his head, he wondered what had woken him.

“Obi-Wan? Anakin?” He frowned--someone must’ve knocked on the door, and that’s what woke him. Master Obi-Wan certainly wasn’t back yet. And, from the sounds of it, that was Padme. But why would she come see them in the middle of the night?

Frowning, he went to open the door. It was Padme, the make-up gone, and wearing simpler, red handmaiden’s clothes, her hair in a simple twisted bun, with Captain Panaka behind her. She smiled tightly at him.

“May we come in?” Anakin nodded and stepped back, opening the door wider for them before closing it softly. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

“That’s alright. Is everything okay?”

“For the moment,” Padme said, her smile still tight, her eyes steely. Anakin frowned again. That wasn’t reassuring  _ at all.  _ “Is Obi-Wan here?”

“No, he… went out, a while ago,” Anakin said, not quite sure how to explain it to Padme. “Some Council business they needed him for, I think.”

“Oh,” Padme sighed, and then she hesitated. “Would you mind if we wait here for him?”

“Of course not,” Anakin said, finally beginning to smile. How could he  _ mind _ spending more time with Padme? Quickly, he took one of the cushions from the bed and set it down beside the armchairs, gesturing for them both to sit. Padme’s smile was soft and sweet as she gratefully sank down. “What is it you needed to talk to Master Obi-Wan about?”

Padme sighed. “I’d rather wait until he gets here, if you don’t mind. I’d really rather I only have to say this once.” She grimaced, and Anakin knew it couldn’t be good news. He nodded slowly.

“Hold on a second, I’ll ask him how long he’s going to be,” Anakin told them, and then he closed his eyes, reaching for his bond with Master Obi-Wan, pushing the question impatiently down the bond.

_ Is something wrong?  _ Master Obi-Wan returned immediately, and Anakin could feel the concern.

_ Maybe? Padme’s here, and Captain Panaka. _

_ I’ll be there shortly. I’m still in the palace, so it shouldn’t take me long. _

Anakin sent back a vague affirmative and opened his eyes. Both Padme and Captain Panaka were staring at him, and he flushed. “He’s on his way. He’s still in the palace, so he’ll be here in a bit.”

Padme blinked at him, and then laughed brightly. “That would be so useful, wouldn’t it, Captain?”

He chuckled as well. “Especially when someone’s jamming communications.”

Padme giggled, and Anakin cracked a tentative smile himself.

_ Mace would like to come as well, if Her Majesty doesn’t mind. _

Anakin found himself nodding at the thought and then blinked, returning his attention to Padme. “Is it alright if Master Mace comes with Master Obi-Wan?”

Padme blinked, and then nodded slowly. “Yes, of course.” Anakin paused to push back an affirmative.

“That would really would be dead useful,” Captain Panaka muttered. He looked at Anakin curiously. “What’s the range on that?”

“The bond? Or telepathy in general?” Anakin clarified.

“Both. Either.”

“Uh, well, I’m not really sure, for most Jedi,” Anakin admitted. “Master Obi-Wan said not everyone feels the Force the way I do, but I can sense pretty much anyone on the same planet, and if I have a bond with them, we can communicate through the bond no matter where on the planet they are. And when Master Obi-Wan was on Concord Dawn, I felt it when he was injured, from Coruscant, even though he was too far for us to really communicate with each other.”

Captain Panaka blinked at him, not-quite-gaping, and Anakin shrugged. Padme leaned forward eagerly.

“Obi-Wan told me some about bonds, last time you were here,” Padme said. “He was explaining how he could sense more of Master Qui-Gon’s condition than the medical scanners.”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. And even if we don’t have a bond with someone…” He frowned, wondering how to explain it. “ _ Everyone _ projects into the Force. Everyone and  _ everything,  _ too. Anything that’s alive--animals, plants, people who aren’t Force-sensitive themselves. Sometimes it’s not much, just the fact that they  _ are  _ alive, but from people, we usually get… impressions of their feelings, and sometimes full thoughts, if they’re broadcasting.”

“Broadcasting?” Captain Panaka asked.

“Focusing on one thing really hard, basically,” Anakin explained. “But that also depends on how good the person’s shields are.”

“Shields?” It was Padme’s turn to question, her head tilted thoughtfully.

“Yeah, it’s like… You know how you have to control your expression carefully, when you’re officially acting as the Queen?” Anakin said, and she nodded slowly. “And the makeup helps, but you also do a lot of the control yourself. Shields are the same thing, but for thoughts and feelings in the Force. We’re supposed to pay attention to our thoughts, but we also have shields that help us.”

“Is broadcasting bad?” Padme questioned slowly, and Anakin grimaced.

“It’s not that it’s  _ bad,  _ just… Imagine how it would’ve been during the Battle of Theed if you could  _ feel _ and  _ hear _ everyone else’s fear,” Anakin said slowly. Padme frowned. “It’s… It can just be distracting, for Force-users if another Force-user is projecting. And we can get caught in each other’s feedback loops in the Force.”

“Oh. That sounds… overwhelming,” Padme said. Anakin nodded.

“It can be. The Temple seemed… really  _ loud  _ in the Force when I first got there. The other thing shields do, besides helping us not to project, is help us not feel other people so strongly,” Anakin finished.

Padme looked thoughtful. “Can non-Force-users learn to shield?”

Anakin shrugged. “I don’t really see why not. It’d just be… harder for you to know if it’s working or not. You’d need to have a Force-user help you.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the door, Master Obi-Wan and Master Mace slipping through it. They both paused to bow to Padme, who rose to curtsey.

“Your Majesty,” Master Mace greeted her.

“Master Jedi,” she said. Anakin thought it was perhaps a bit ironic that he could feel her sudden burst of  _ fear,  _ the chilly, spine-tingling feeling of it in the Force, but it was quelled quickly. Anakin thought Padme would be really good at shielding, if she tried it. “There is something I wished to speak to you about in private.”

“Our other reason for coming,” Master Obi-Wan acknowledged, nodding. “Bail is a good friend of mine. He warned me that you have… uncomfortable questions for us.”

Padme nodded, looking grave. Master Obi-Wan and Master Mace walked over to sit down on the carpet beside Anakin, both of them forgoing cushions and merely folding their legs under them. Captain Panaka started to rise, to offer his chair, but Master Mace gave him a tight smile and shook his head.

Anakin frowned and sighed, starting to rise himself. He probably shouldn’t be here for this, and he knew that Master Obi-Wan didn’t like having to ask him to leave--

He stopped as Master Obi-Wan put a hand on his arm, gently pushing him back down.

“You’ll find out soon enough anyway, Padawan.” Slowly, Anakin nodded, and turned his attention back to Padme.

She took a deep breath, and said, “Is it true? The Republic commissioned an army?”

“Yes,” Master Obi-Wan said bluntly. Padme took another breath, shakier this time, and her hands gripped the armrests tightly. “And no.”

“This is no time to be  _ coy,  _ Obi-Wan,” Padme snapped. Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, but Master Obi-Wan just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Bail said he told you it’s complicated,” Master Obi-Wan said. She nodded slowly. “I should think it would be better to say that an army was commissioned for the Republic than to say that the Republic commissioned an army.”

“You wish to argue  _ semantics? _ ” Padme said, and Master Obi-Wan sighed.

“It may be a semantic difference, but it is an  _ important _ one. There were  _ two people _ involved in this decision that we know of. The Chancellor knows nothing about it. Former Chancellor Valorum knows nothing about it. There is no record of it in  _ any _ Senate files, even the most highly classified--again, the Chancellor knows  _ nothing _ about this, and neither does Judicial,” Master Obi-Wan said. Padme frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“There was a Jedi named Sifo-Dyas,” Master Mace cut in, taking up the explanation. “He was given to strong bouts of prescience. He had visions of a massive war that spanned the galaxy, and believed that the Republic itself was in danger. When we didn’t heed his warnings, he went rogue.”

“He colluded with someone claiming to represent the Senate,” Master Obi-Wan continued, somewhat calmer than before, although both he and Padme were still tense. “They commissioned a planet of cloners to  _ create _ an army for them.”

Padme blinked at him, going perfectly blank for a moment, before her face twisted into fury. “How could they ever believe that the Republic would stoop to using  _ clones of a sentient being _ as cannon fodder? And for  _ what war?  _ There is to  _ be _ no war, at least not with us, unless the Republic begins it themselves! What in the name of the Goddess would they even think that they  _ need them for? _ ”

Master Obi-Wan pursed his lips, and Master Mace sighed before answering, “The Sith, m’lady. As long as the Sith remain in the galaxy,  _ they _ are the threat. To all of us. They want power, and the more chaos they create in grabbing it, the better. They are more than happy to instigate conflict for the sake of it.”

Padme stilled, though she was still frowning heavily. Anakin idly thought the little furrow between her brows was charming.

“I hope to make the clone army a non-issue,” Master Obi-Wan sighed, his shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly. “I’m working with several others to free them, though we’re playing a bit of a long game--we should have about seven years before the… ‘order’ is even meant to be ready.”

_ Free them. _ The phrase hit Anakin like a ton of bricks, and he realized what an  _ army of ordered clones _ really meant. They were cloning  _ people  _ just to make them  _ slaves _ . Was that… right?  _ Were  _ clones actual people? Anakin didn’t see why they wouldn’t be, but that thought was… almost as uncomfortable.

That would mean that the Republic that the Jedi were assumed to serve, the Republic whose whims they all too often served when they could  _ do  _ so much  _ more,  _ was evil.

And what did that make the Jedi?

Anakin took a deep breath and forced himself to  _ think.  _ Master Obi-Wan was constantly telling him to  _ stop,  _ and to  _ think. _

Master Obi-Wan said it had been two people: one Jedi--that the Council didn’t even  _ agree with _ \--and one person who  _ claimed _ to represent the entire Senate. But the Senate had no record of any of it. So… maybe it  _ was _ just the Sith? But… there were only supposed to be  _ two _ of them. Could  _ two people _ really accomplish that?

Was that  _ Jedi _ working with the Sith? Was  _ he _ a Sith? But he’d been Master Yan’s friend--but then maybe that was why Master Yan might have Fallen in the vision--

Anakin forced himself to pay attention to the conversation again, pushing the thoughts away, knowing that he was only going to work himself up without getting anywhere.

“Please, tell me honestly,” Padme said, and Anakin frowned at her tone. It was… almost desperate, and she actually sounded as young as she really was, for once. “Is Naboo in danger from the Republic?”

“Not that we know of,” Master Mace said gravely. “And Senator Organa wanted to come himself--the Chancellor appreciated the thought, but assumed that you would not want Republic emissaries here so shortly after leaving it. They were supportive of us coming here.”

Padme relaxed somewhat, at that. “I can’t help but to agree with them. That would only serve to… agitate my people. They are enjoying their hard-earned freedom, and I will let them have it. Perhaps next year, or the year after that, we might find some other public holiday to observe together with a Republic ambassador. As a gesture of… goodwill, if not friendship.”

Master Mace smiled tightly and nodded. “Of course, m’lady.”

“Thank you, my friends,” she answered, smiling at them, though the expression seemed a bit tense, the corners of her mouth too firm. Anakin didn’t like it. He didn’t like  _ any  _ of this.

“We come to serve,” Master Obi-Wan said, and Padme’s smile finally grew a bit more genuine, as though the traditional Jedi saying to wave off an offer of thanks was some kind of inside joke to them.

“I should go,” Padme murmured. She rose, and everyone rose with her. The Jedi bowed, and Padme curtseyed. Before turning to leave, she spared Anakin a glance and a smile, and he grinned back.

His smile faded quickly as she left. Anakin turned to his Master and folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow and frowning ever-so-slightly, like he always saw Master Yan doing.

“What was  _ that? _ ”

Master Mace  _ laughed.  _ Anakin blinked and scowled at him. Master Mace just shook his head and looked at Master Obi-Wan. “You’re on your own for this one.”

Master Obi-Wan sighed. “ _ Jate ca,  _ Mace.” Master Obi-Wan waited for Master Mace to leave, and then he sighed and shook his head. “I need a drink.”

“Uh, the Duchess apparently gave us some  _ tihaar, _ ” Anakin said, pointing to the bottle that sat on one of the bedside tables. Master Obi-Wan hummed, looking relieved, and went to pour for himself. He set the glass back on the table and pulled off his boots, sitting down on the bed and tucking them up underneath him, retrieving his glass. Taking his cue, Anakin went to sit on his own bed.

Master Obi-Wan took a large swig of the alcohol--and  _ how _ did he not even grimace? Anakin could  _ smell that _ from here--and looked down at the floor, his eyes going stormy grey.

“So there’s a clone army,” Anakin prompted when it seemed like he wasn’t going to say anything.

Master Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes. There’s a clone army.” He looked up, meeting Anakin’s gaze. “They’re clones of the  _ Mand’alor. _ ”

Anakin blinked. “Oh. Wait-- _ Boba? _ ”

“Just so.”

“ _ Osik. _ ”

“ _ Language,  _ Padawan,” Master Obi-Wan sighed, rolling his eyes skyward before taking another drink. “But, yes. We believe that Master Sifo-Dyas contacted a friend of his in the Senate, or vice versa, with the idea to create an army to ‘protect the Republic.’” Master Obi-Wan took another drink, and Anakin noticed his hand was shaking, just like it had that night in their apartment, when Padme had come to see them. “In reality, that ‘friend’ of Master Sifo-Dyas was a Sith Lord.”

“Are you talking about… do you mean  _ then,  _ or now?” he asked slowly. Master Obi-Wan grimaced.

“Some events have been remarkably similar,” he murmured, shaking his head and looking down again. “It happened slightly differently, this time, and Master Sifo-Dyas never actually  _ met _ the  _ Kaminiise _ \--Kaminoans, the cloners. He… died before then.”

Anakin knew how he’d died, too. He shivered.

“He had the vision too, didn’t he?” he asked. Master Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“Yes. But the vision is a story for another day,” Master Obi-Wan said, and he suddenly seemed so  _ tired  _ again. “To sum up the part I can tell you  _ now: _ the Republic doesn’t have any idea that an army was created on their behalf. And the wider Jedi Order doesn’t know, either. Hels, the  _ Council  _ didn’t even know until after it was too late. In  _ either _ timeline.”

Anakin blinked, his head tilting thoughtfully, stuck on that one final word:  _ timeline.  _ They’d always referenced it as a  _ vision,  _ but was that just a cover for  _ time travel?  _ Was that even  _ possible?  _ If it  _ was,  _ how did they  _ do it?  _ Could the Force do that?

“Stop, please, Anakin,” Master Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his temple with one hand as he paused to take another sip. “Our shielding is… not what it should be, right now.”

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered, flushing and looking down. Master Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s alright. Now, I promise that you will receive all of the answers you’re looking for quite soon. After Naboo, we’ll be taking the detour I  _ initially _ planned before we were requested here,” he said. “On the way there, I’ll tell you what happened  _ then. _ ” Master Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, before draining the rest of his glass. “We’ll be going to Kamino, and you’ll get to meet the  _ vod’e _ for yourself.”


	19. Shmi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your regularly scheduled Monday-update comes a few hours early this time!
> 
> So sorry, but I'll have to go back for the Mando'a key later. There are only basic words and phrases though so I hope it's not too difficult to read without that :)

Shmi had been… surprised, when Jango commed her on Kamino to ask her to represent him on Naboo. But it made sense: the Queen was friendly with her _ad,_ and Shmi was the closest to a truly neutral party the _Mando’ade_ would get, and perhaps the only one close to Jango to whom Satine Kryze wouldn’t object. She had accepted easily, happy both to see more of the galaxy and to serve her _Mand’alor_ \--because it was _her choice_ to do so. She found that _serving_ others was… strangely fulfilling, when she was doing it of her own volition. She thought she might understand the sort of fulfillment Jedi seemed to have, at the service of the galaxy, but by their own power.

Leaving Kain in charge was both a comfort to her and a test for him. If he did well, if he treated the rest of her _ade_ with the care and respect they deserved, and watched over them as she would have… Perhaps there could be something between them. Kain had seemed to realize the weight of her request, and had solemnly sworn himself to their protection in her stead.

And then she had found out that Anakin himself would be here, coming with Obi-Wan, and Shmi was suddenly grinning more broadly than she had since she had last seen him on Concord Dawn.

Now, Anakin was _here,_ acting as an ambassador for the Jedi Order, while Shmi herself was an ambassador for the King of Mandalore.

These were strange days indeed. _Good_ days, so much better than anything she could ever have dreamed of while still bound in chains, but… strange.

Shmi sat with her legs folded beneath her, perched on a crate, as she watched the Jedi in one of the palace hangars. Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku had joined them in their ‘saber practice, and they took turns working with Anakin and sparring with each other. Master Windu had gone with the others, on their tour of the palace gardens. Shmi felt a bit sad to miss it--she loved _green things,_ having seen so few of them in her life. She could tell Anakin shared her fascination, and the irony of the fact that neither of them had spent much time in a _green_ place since leaving Tatooine made her smile a bit ruefully. It would have been nice, she thought, though she would not give up the life she had built for herself on Kamino for an entire planet of green fields and forests.

She watched with a carefully trained eye as Anakin worked through some sort of kata, with many leaps and spins and flips. Shmi was not very familiar with the different lightsaber forms of the Order, but after years of working with Jango, years of teaching _cuun ade_ in turn, she was able to glean enough from watching to know that Anakin was doing well.

Master Qui-Gon watched with an approving gaze as Anakin completed katas with his new lightsaber; in the background, Obi-Wan was sparring with Master Dooku, though Shmi’s attention was focused on Anakin. He had a look of pure concentration, brow slightly furrowed, the set of his mouth firm. With that expression on his face, Shmi could almost see the impression of the man he would one day become.

“You’re Anakin’s mother?” Shmi looked up at the voice; there were two men standing there, one tall and lanky, the other short. The taller one was the one who had spoken, with dark hair and eyes, and a kind smile on his face. The shorter one looked almost… nervous, under his long, blonde hair. “I’m Jinto Suduri, ma’am. This is Cyrus Ree. We’re pilots--we flew with your son, during the Battle of Theed.”

“Oh my,” Shmi said, a smile starting to grow on her face. She had heard, of course, about what Anakin had done during the battle--and she had gotten to hear it from Anakin himself, thanks to the commlink Obi-Wan had given her on Tatooine. She nodded at them. “Please, join me. I’m happy to meet a few of his friends.”

They nodded their thanks, and Cyrus sat down with his legs crossed, his back to the wall. Jinto leaned up against the crate Shmi was sitting on, his hip resting against it as he folded his arms over his chest.

“He’s a remarkable kid,” Jinto said quietly, watching Anakin and Master Qui-Gon just as intently as she was.

“He is,” Shmi agreed, grinning broadly.

“Was it hard? To give him to the Jedi?” Jinto asked, and there was a sort of… _concern_ in his voice that made Shmi frown. This didn’t feel like an idle question.

“Yes,” she said, turning to look at him. “And no. I am not certain if you know, but we were slaves, on Tatooine, when Qui-Gon Jinn found us. It was the easiest thing in the world to agree to his freedom. I would have done _anything_ for Anakin to be free. To let him go was a small price. But it hurt, of course. And… I always knew that he had _power._ Power that I could not fully understand. I recognized the same power in Master Qui-Gon, and realized it was the Force. And if he is strong in the Force, I feel his place is with the _Jettise_.” Jinto nodded slowly, and gave her a sweet, sympathetic smile. Shmi noticed that there were tears in his eyes. “You ask for personal reasons, don’t you? My answer means something to you.”

“My own little girl,” Jinto said, his smile quivering slightly. “She’s been… levitating. For _years_ . We couldn’t figure out how she was escaping from her crib every night, so we installed a monitor--we expected some cute tumbling around, you know? Like those funny videos that go viral, but… she just… _flew_ out of it.”

“Ah,” Shmi murmured, and reached out to touch his arm. “How old is the girl?”

“She’s only five,” Jinto said, and he looked down, shaking his head. “I looked it up, on the Holonet. What we saw her do was… apparently _advanced_ for a five-year-old, to have that amount of _control_ already, naturally. We… I know we have to do _something._ ”

“There are other options, you know. The Order has resources for parents who do not wish to give up their children, but know that they need instruction. They can send teachers to you, rather than taking the child into the Order.” Jinto looked hopeful, and Shmi smiled. “But you have about a year to decide whether or not you will give her to them. They generally take Initiates up to the age of six, and that is usually considered rather late; Anakin was a rare exception, mostly due to the fact that he was not tested at birth, and not from a Republic planet at that time.”

“I see,” Jinto said, frowning. “My wife… She thinks Trilla’s place is with the Order. But I don’t know how to let her go. And this business with the secessions, including our own… I understand that the Order’s trying to change things, but they still work primarily for the Republic. Would I even get to see her again?”

Shmi frowned thoughtfully and turned further to look him in the eye. “Do you think that Trilla would have a better life with the Order, given her gifts? Or do you think that limited instruction would be enough to guide her?” Jinto looked down again, and Shmi knew his answer. She sighed. “It is no easy thing, to give up a child.”

“No,” Jinto whispered. “It isn’t.”

“Perhaps you should bring her here, or bring her to the festival,” Shmi suggested. Jinto looked up curiously at her. “She could meet the _Jetiise,_ and you could see how she interacts with them. Watching Force-sensitives meeting each other is… I _felt_ something, when Master Qui-Gon spoke to Anakin. The… _rightness_ of it.”

Jinto nodded slowly. “That’s a good suggestion, and I’m sure my wife will agree. Thank you, ma’am.”

Shmi laughed. “Please--I am Shmi.”

Jinto nodded and smiled at her a bit more genuinely, and in silent agreement, they returned to watching the _Jetiise._ Master Qui-Gon was just handing off Anakin to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan said something that made Anakin laugh, and then he nodded before moving into a starting position.

His lightsaber, Shmi thought, was beautiful. It was so _bright,_ just like he was, a pure white with just the faintest _hint_ of blue around the edges. Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku had seemed surprised to see it, but to Shmi, it seemed so _right._ It suited him.

Obi-Wan ignited his own ‘saber, a pure bolt of blue--and beautiful in its own way, Shmi thought. It reminded her of the color of Kamino’s oceans on a clear day, deep, calm, steady blue. Blue _was_ for reliability, after all. And white for purity, she thought with a smile, looking back at Anakin.

Obi-Wan stood fairly straight, with his legs apart, his ‘saber raised above his head and parallel to the floor, his other hand outstretched before him. Anakin widened his own stance, keeping both hands on his ‘saber and bringing his own lightsaber up. Obi-Wan nodded, and Anakin took a deep breath before darting forward.

Jango had trained her to use a _beskad,_ after she had told him how many _depur_ she had slain on Tatooine with her vibroblade alone. She had some aptitude for it--but not like Anakin. Even to her own only semi-trained eye, she could tell that he was _good._ Obi-Wan, obviously, was still much _better,_ acting as a sort of sponge to the fury Anakin was unleashing. He was still a child, yet, and not terribly large, so the force of the blows couldn’t have been staggering, but the sheer _speed_ of it was impressive. He moved like the winds during a dust storm, whipping about and cutting anything in its path--not _powerfully,_ but it _stung,_ and if it went on long enough, it _could_ be fatal.

Shmi did not know if it made her a good _buir_ or a bad one, that she was so proud of her _ad_ for being so capable at such a young age when it came to violence.

It went on for several minutes that way, Anakin raining down strike after strike, whirling and twisting and, at one point, leaping into the air to _flip_ over Obi-Wan’s head. All the while, Obi-Wan’s own lightsaber was an impenetrable wall, understated, but ever-present, always precisely where it needed to be to block the next blow. Shmi felt another burst of pride--in _Obi-Wan_ this time, and she thought herself a bit foolish. Then she recalled how proud he had been of her on Concord Dawn. He had had no true cause to be proud of _her,_ either, but he still had been. She decided to embrace the feeling, and grinned broadly as she watched her two boys sparring.

Finally, Anakin’s energy began to wane, his movements visibly slowing, and he backed away, shaking his head. They both disengaged their lightsabers.

“ _Whew!_ I think I’m done for now, Master,” Anakin said. Master Obi-Wan nodded.

“You did very well,” Obi-Wan said, smiling widely, returning to a more natural position. “I think Shien suits you.“ Anakin beamed at him, and then glanced over at Shmi. She nodded and grinned herself.

“ _Vor’e!_ ” Anakin stilled as he took in Jinto and Ree beside Shmi. “Hi, guys!”

“Hey, kid,” Jinto returned easily, the emotion of the past few minutes seemingly vanished. Shmi knew better--it was simply locked down tight. “That was impressive.”

Anakin nodded. “ _Vor’e!_ ”

Jinto nodded back. “We partly came to see you because we were curious about what Jedi training looks like--” And _oh,_ there was so much more meaning to that statement than the others would realize, Shmi knew. Her heart ached for him all over again. “--and partly because we wanted to… warn you.”

“Warn us?” Anakin repeated, his grin disappearing.

“It’s nothing too bad,” Jinto assured him quickly. “Just… I remember how long this took you all to work up to accepting the offer before. The Royal Advisory Council wants you to stand beside the Queen on the dais.”

Obi-Wan huffed, and Anakin frowned and glanced at him. “I thought we were _here_ to stand with the Queen.”

“Figuratively,” Obi-Wan sighed. “To be seen at the celebrations, yes. But Jedi do not accept such honors.”

“We did last time,” Anakin said slowly.

Obi-Wan reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Her Majesty is _persistent._ Perhaps I should say that we are not _meant_ to accept such honors.”

“Ah, this next part might be a bit awkward for you, then,” Jinto said slowly. “She wants to give you medals. You two, and you, Master Jinn.”

Shmi frowned--Master Qui-Gon had grimaced in distaste, while Master Dooku looked amused, and Anakin looked stunned, but Obi-Wan had paled considerably.

“ _Tion’jate?_ ” Shmi asked, frowning at Obi-Wan.

He was perfectly still for a long moment, and Anakin glanced up at him in concern. That movement seemed to shake him out of it, and he murmured, “I don’t think I could do that.”

Shmi frowned. “ _Tion’jate?_ ” she repeated. Obi-Wan finally met her gaze.

“ _Jate._ ” Just as this had gone the last time, she did not believe him. He shrugged. “I’ll have a word with her.”

Shmi nodded slowly, distantly noting the concerned looks on Master Qui-Gon and Master Yan’s faces, peering at Obi-Wan. Jinto forced a smile. “Well, I also came to let you know that the kitchens have set up an informal luncheon for all of us. The other ambassadors are having midmeal in the gardens.”

“Lunch sounds _great,_ Jinto. Thanks,” Anakin said, smiling. Shmi laughed--at least his appetite was unchanged, one of the few constants of youth.

* * *

After their lunch, they were directed to meet the Queen and the other ambassadors in the Hall of Water. As soon as they entered, Shmi understood its name: it was built into one of the lower levels of the palace, and one wall was made entirely of glass, giving them a view of the waterfall as it flowed off the cliff the palace was built onto, and down to join the massive lake and river system that ran through the city. And all around, there was so much _green._

Shmi had done her research, of course, before coming to Naboo. She had looked up the system in the modules the _Kaminiise_ had put together, and she knew that they worshipped what they called “the Goddess,” whom they believed to come from nature itself, and sparked the renewal of life as things died and were reborn in a different form. Taking in the absolute _beauty_ of this place, Shmi could understand why they held such beliefs.

“Ah, there you are!” she looked up at 3PO and grinned. He was a funny little droid, somehow riddled with anxiety, and so prim and proper. She did not understand how such a combination could have been brought forth by Anakin, as he was _none_ of those things, but it gave the protocol droid such _personality_ that she found him endearing. “Master Jedi, Lady Shmi, Sir Suduri, Sir Ree.” C-3PO nodded stiffly to them. “I have been asked to give you a summary of the events planned for this evening.”

“By all means,” Master Qui-Gon said, nodding back.

“Her Majesty has planned a social hour, here in the Hall of Water, between all of you and the Royal Advisory Council. At dusk, the festivals will begin in Theed itself, and she has invited all of you to attend the opening ceremony,” he told them. “As food will be served at the festival, no formal dinner has been planned tonight.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan murmured. 3PO nodded, not seeming to catch his sarcasm. Shmi wondered what bothered him about these plans.

“Yes, quite wonderful! I shall be happy to inform Her Majesty that you accept,” 3PO declared. He nodded to them again before turning to the small crowd to find the Queen.

Master Qui-Gon reached up to pat Obi-Wan’s armored shoulder, giving him a wan smile. “Courage, Obi-Wan. I know how much you dislike politics, but you _are_ good at it.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, grimacing. “It isn’t the _politics_ that… concerns me.”

Master Qui-Gon’s smile turned decidedly teasing. “Ah. The Duchess, then?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “No. But it’s quite alright, really. I’m fine.” He drew himself up, standing a bit straighter, and turned to Anakin. “You remember what we discussed?”

“ _‘Lek,_ ” Anakin said easily, nodding.

“ _Jate._ Go mingle; I’m going for a drink.” With a tight smile at Anakin, and a nod to Shmi, Obi-Wan moved off towards one of the long tables where light snacks and liquor were laid out. Shmi frowned. Something was _wrong._ She could sense it, a certain _tug_ behind her navel warning her that not all was well. What was bothering him?

She shook her head and turned herself to questions she could get more immediate answers for, turning to Anakin. “What did he tell you?” 

Anakin shrugged. “‘Don’t trust politicians.’”

Master Dooku hummed and nodded. “Wise advice. I hope that you will heed it.” Anakin nodded again, and Master Dooku smiled at him, his eyes softening somewhat. Shmi grinned in turn--she doubted her choice less and less each time she saw the affection that the _Jetiise_ clearly held for her _ad._ “I am off to follow my Grand-Padawan’s example.”

They watched him go, and then Speaker Birna came over to steal away Master Qui-Gon, her wife already engaged in conversation with Lord Bibble, ushering Master Qui-Gon over to the space in front of the glass where Lady Bonteri stood, admiring the view. Shmi looked back down at Anakin, and then at Jinto.

“Ani,” she said, and he looked up at her attentively, smiling. “ _Vor’e--_ for letting us watch your training this morning.”

Anakin beamed. “Anytime!”

“But I realize there’s still so much we don’t know about what your life with the Order is like,” Shmi told him, glancing up at Jinto, whose posture tensed slightly. “Perhaps you could tell us more about it?”

“Sure! So when we’re younger--Initiates and Junior Padawans--we focus a lot on the classes we take, and it’s not until we’re Senior Padawans that we start spending _most_ of our time in the field. This cycle, I’m in Negotiations, Advanced Mechanics, and...”

And if, halfway through Anakin’s explanation of his Advanced Mechanics course, and the project he was working on for it, Shmi allowed herself to be caught in a separate conversation with one of the Geonosians, helped along by C-3PO, leaving Jinto to ask as many questions of Anakin as he likes without anyone’s prying eyes--well. Shmi would never admit that it was planned, but she did return his grateful smile with a playful little wink.

* * *

Shmi liked Lady Bonteri, she decided after making her rounds and speaking to everyone in smaller groups, standing there alone with her drink, idly staring out the window at the waterfall as the sun began to set, nearing dusk. Lady Bonteri was pragmatic, and had a strong sense of _justice._ She had _fight_ in her that Shmi liked, although to find that she was nearly as much a pacifist as Satine Kryze was… disappointing, in a way. It made the _Mando’ad_ in Shmi sigh, though to the woman’s face, she was perfectly polite.

Shmi even liked the Geonosians, odd though they were. They seemed to prize only mechanical aptitude over drinking ability, which made her laugh. They downed _tihaar_ as though they were native _Mando’ade,_ and they were still able to carry on an in-depth conversation about their manufacturing plants, and the specifications of the droids they had made. Droids that they _used_ to sell to the Trade Federation, though they had now turned their attentions towards ship-building and shield manufacturing, as demands came from nearby Tatooine.

And Tatooine… To hear about all that they had accomplished for themselves warmed her. Shmi was pleased to hear that the Hutts’ wealth had served them well, getting them a foot in the door with the Geonosians. Once they had ships, and shields, they took another page from Jango’s book, many of them becoming bounty hunters and mercenaries. They had even helped several other, if smaller, slave uprisings, and Shmi was so _proud_ that she thought she might cry thinking of it. But their jobs kept the money flowing through Tatooine, and they were starting to work on making the planet _liveable,_ rather than just _survivable._ There were massive greenhouses under construction, and several underground cities, down beneath the sand and into the soil itself. Dry and hot as Tatooine might have been, the insulation did keep it cooler belowground.

She returned her thoughts to the other ambassadors, and the Queen’s advisors. She liked Lord Bibble. He seemed kind, if a bit… stuffy. He had been horrified to learn that she and Anakin had been slaves, but she had seen no pity in his expression. In fact, he seemed to respect her more after learning of her past. Shmi decided, tentatively, that he was a good man.

And Captain Panaka… He had been warm to her, once he found out that she was Anakin’s _buir._ And he was another who had _spirit,_ that one. He asked a stream of polite, if pointed, questions about Mandalorian weapons and _beskar’gam,_ and his appreciation for their prowess in battle shone through clearly. Shmi thought he might have made a good _Mando’ad,_ had his path been different.

The Queen herself… Shmi liked her. Quite a bit, actually. She had an old soul, and a certain sort of fire that Shmi did not often see--most fire burned so hot, and quick. Many fighters died young. But some… Shmi had gotten the same sense from Obi-Wan, and from Jango. They all had the same _determination_ coursing through them, keeping them going. They all seemed to subsist on sheer force of will, and _that,_ at least, Shmi could understand perfectly.

Lord Palpatine, Shmi was not so certain about. He had been kind to her, smiling broadly and thanking her for Anakin’s role in the Battle of Theed, and for coming to represent Mandalore on their “humble planet,” and… He had _said_ all of the right things. He had done all of the right things, and his facial expressions had never once belied the words he spoke. He _seemed,_ on the surface, to be just as kind and genuine as Lord Bibble. But her conversation with Lord Bibble had not left her feeling… drained, and cold. Shmi recalled Obi-Wan’s discomfort, at the beginning of this event, and his warning to Anakin: _don’t trust politicians._ Shmi wondered if he meant one politician in particular.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Shmi turned slightly, smiling at Obi-Wan.

“I did, as a matter of fact. Did you manage to?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “I’m afraid not.” He looked down at his own glass of _tihaar,_ his eyes stormy grey. “I’ve had a… _feeling,_ ever since we arrived.”

Shmi’s smile faded. “A bad one?” He nodded. “Could you be more specific, perhaps?”

Obi-Wan laughed and shook his head, looking up at her, some of the ice thawing in his eyes. “You sound like Qui-Gon.” He sighed, and his smile dimmed slightly. “Warnings from the Force are rarely coherent, or specific. But I have a strong sense that _something_ is going to happen. Not now, but… very soon.”

Shmi nodded slowly. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.” He nodded, his eyes shining with gratitude, and she smiled back before taking a sip of her own drink, turning back to the view. “What do you think of Lord Palpatine?”

He froze, and it was confirmation enough for Shmi. There was something _wrong_ about that man.

“Not here,” he murmured. “When we follow you, after you leave Naboo.”

She nodded slowly. A man like that must have eyes and ears everywhere--speaking of it too openly, and too close to him, would not be wise, if he _was_ engaged in any… unsavory activities.

The sound of a bell tinkling drew their attention to the Queen, who smiled at all of them. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed yourselves, and gotten better acquainted.” A round of affirmative murmuring went through them, and she nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, we should make our way down to the city center. The opening ceremony will begin soon.”

Shmi glanced at Obi-Wan, but he shook his head. She relaxed slightly. Shmi trusted Obi-Wan to tell her when his “bad feeling” came to a head.

* * *

The city center was beautiful. It was a large and open circle, paved, with arches of fountains forming a broken circle around the edges, leaving a pathway through the center where a dense crowd of people had gathered. In the very center was a dais, also made of stone. Shmi knew from her research into the Naboo that this was their Place of Speech, a place where any citizen could stand upon the dais and be heard on any issue without fear of repercussion, and where debates between citizens took place. Shmi liked the idea of democracy, in theory--on Tatooine, it was working rather well, with the people choosing their Speakers, who deferred in their judgements to Ma Jira--though these were early days for them yet. She had gone so long without a voice, and knowing that her brothers and sisters, all of the Freed, now had a say was… beautiful.

But Shmi had also seen so much _cruelty._ She knew, deep in her bones, that there were some people who were not inherently _good._ As long as those people existed, systems could be corrupted--democracy itself could be corrupted, as the Republic itself demonstrated. It was, she thought, better to give oversight to one, or a few, as Jango and _Jorad’alor_ Kryze shared power. When those people were _good,_ then the people would be governed fairly. When they were not, the people would rise up to replace them. That was how one usually became _Mand’alor,_ after all: trial by combat. To issue a Challenge against the _Mand’alor_ was to declare their rule unjust.

Out of the corner of her eye, Shmi saw Satine Kryze stop to accept a corsage of flowers from a little girl, and then felt a tug on her arm. She looked down at a little boy, grinning up at her, with pale skin and dark hair.

“ _Sui’cuy!_ ” he said, and Shmi laughed, smiling at him. She knelt down.

“ _Su’cuy, adiik,_ ” she returned. He beamed at her and then giggled.

“Naboo greets you in peace!” he declared, and took her arm to slip a bracelet onto it. It was strange, but pretty, made of small, glowing blue beads.

“ _Vor entye,_ ” Shmi said, nodding to him.

The boy frowned. “Um, _ba’get’ye_?”

Shmi laughed again and clapped him on the shoulder. “Your Mando’a is coming along nicely. _Ba’gedet’ye_.”

“ _Ba’gedet’ye,_ ” he repeated slowly, and she nodded in encouragement. He grinned at her, displaying a gap-toothed smile, and then he backed away. “Nice t’ meet you! Go with the Goddess.”

With that, he scampered off into the crowd. Shmi rose and saw Satine staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, and Satine smiled softly.

“One thing that all _Mando’ade,_ New and Old, have in common is the love of _ade,_ ” she murmured. Shmi smiled back and nodded.

A glance told her that she was not they were not the only members of the group to have been approached: Master Qui-Gon had a flower tucked into his hair, a Nubian lily, and Shmi laughed brightly, and he smiled serenely at her, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes; Obi-Wan wore a necklace made of the same glowing beads as Shmi’s bracelet; Anakin had a flower pinned to his tunic, and she smiled softly at him.

Other _ade_ continued to approach them all, and Shmi bit her lip at Master Dooku’s distinctly tight and uncomfortable smile as he knelt down and allowed a little girl to put a wreath of flowers around his neck. Master Qui-Gon laughed brightly, looking pleased and amused, and Anakin giggled. Obi-Wan looked as though he wanted to cry, and Shmi wondered why.

“We aren’t required on the dais with Her Majesty tonight, thankfully,” Master Windu sighed as he neared the rest of the group. Shmi blinked at the decoration on his head, a crown made of both lilies and the glowing blue balls.

“I like your crown, Master Mace,” Anakin said, a broad smile on his face, but there was _wickedness_ in his eyes. Shmi tensed, but Master Mace simply raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Padawan. The Naboo were kind to welcome us so freely,” he said simply. Shmi relaxed again, reminding herself that these were _kind_ people who would not begrudge an _ad_ a bit of teasing. “We will not need to take part in any of the ceremonies until Freedom Day itself, on the third day.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped in relief, and Shmi snorted. On a whim, she leaned over to bump their armored shoulders together, and he turned to smile at her.

“Where’s Master Vos?” Anakin asked suddenly, frowning. “I thought he and Padawan Secura were coming to Naboo.”

“They did,” Master Windu said. “They’re acting as undercover security. They won’t be joining us directly.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, a bit disappointed, frowning lightly. Shmi frowned, wondering who those _Jetiise_ were.

“It’s starting!” an _adiik_ in the crowd cried out as the Queen ascended the large dais. She went alone, but Shmi saw Captain Panaka and several of the other Royal Guard around the platform.

Once the Queen reached the dais, a hush fell over the crowd. She smiled prettily and curtsied deeply. “My people.”

“Our Queen,” the crowd returned, bowing and curtseying themselves in unison. The _Jetiise_ bowed with them, but Shmi and Satine--and Obi-Wan, she noted--all crossed their fists over their chests.

“This shall be our third Freedom Celebration,” she began, “and we have come so very far from where we were. Naboo is known for its peace, its serenity. We are known for our prowess in the arts. We are not warriors, and we never have been. But when our mettle was tested, we proved the courage of our hearts and the strength of our people. We endured, and we triumphed, and that day, we learned an important lesson: sometimes the path to peace must first start with war.

“But I would never have us see war again. We will not hesitate to defend ourselves--our ideals, our homes, our very _lives._ But Naboo is a peaceful world, and all that we desire, above all, is peace and prosperity. And the cost of war… The cost of war is far too high. The loss of life is abhorrent, not only to us, but to the _Goddess._ ” As one, the Naboo clapped their hands once; that had not been in Shmi’s briefing from the _Kaminiise,_ but she reasoned that that was their sign of respect for their deity. “On this day, Remembrance Day, we remember the cost of war. War costs _lives._ And to take a life without proper cause is damning to the soul. Those we remember today _had_ a cause, and are embraced by the Goddess to be reborn.” This time, Shmi noted, they did not make the same gesture, remaining still. Perhaps it was a ritual, rather than a sign of respect. “But we remember them, with sorrow and joy, and we remember the lesson their loss has taught us. We remember their strength, and courage, and we also remember that their loss should never be repeated. Not while the path of peace remains an option.

“No family should ever have a loved one taken from them. No parent should ever lose a child to violence; no siblings should have to lose each other; no family should be torn apart. This is the cost of war, and so long as the path of peace remains open to us, we shall walk it, for we remember the cost of straying from that path.”

“We remember,” the Naboo murmured back. Almost certainly a ritual, then.

“And now, my people: speak. We will hear you.”

With that, the Queen went to one end of the dais, and Captain Panaka produced a chair for her. She sat, and a Naboo _adiik_ climbed up the dais, bowing clumsily to the Queen.

“I remember my parents. My mother was in the camp with me, and she gave me and my sister all of her rations. She got sick before we were freed. And my father was a pilot, and he… died during the battle. But I remember how my mom made blankets for the Northern Tribes on the ice shelf when their village caught on fire, and I remember how my dad helped me build a kite and taught me how to fly it. That’s how I wanna remember them. Reeti and Eirto Raman.”

“Reeti and Eirto Raman,” the crowd repeated. “We remember.”

“Thank you,” the _adiik_ said, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly, and he quickly left the dais to be encircled in the arms of a younger girl--his sister, most likely. An adult put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Shmi smiled grimly. At least they were cared for--but then, she knew that the Naboo cared for their young almost as much as _Mando’ade_ did.

Another one of the Naboo climbed the dais, a teenager, this time, and the pattern was repeated. Shmi thought that this was a good way to remember those they’d lost--they acknowledged the horror of their deaths, but chose to focus on the happier memories they shared with those people, and sharing them with the rest of the Naboo--more would remember, this way, and it kept the event from becoming too cloyingly sad as the remembrances were interspersed with happy and sometimes humorous stories.

It went on for hours, and Shmi had no idea how late it was, only that it had grown fully dark, the town center lit by larger versions of the crackling blue balls they wore as trinkets from the Naboo. She smiled as she saw adults picking up the smaller children as they started to grow tired; Anakin himself was leaning back against Obi-Wan, who had a hand resting gently on his shoulder.

Finally, the Naboo stopped coming, and the Queen stood. “We remember.”

“We remember,” the crowd chorused.

“And we rejoice in our knowledge that the Goddess will remake them anew, and those who were taken from us will be returned,” she declared, and a cheer went up. She curtsied. “Thank you.” They bowed back, and finally, it was over--mostly, anyway. There was a sudden _shift_ in the atmosphere, turning from bittersweet to joyful, a simultaneous and impressive release of tension. Those with young children moved to leave the circle, no doubt to put them to bed, but those who were older, or alone, remained.

The Queen descended the dais, and Shmi turned curiously to Obi-Wan. “What happens now?”

“Today is Remembrance Day,” he explained. “But we’re close to midnight, now, and it will be Friendship Day. As soon as midnight hits, the actual _festivities_ will begin in earnest.”

“The drinking and the merriment,” Shmi commented, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“Just so.”

Shmi smiled and looked up to where the Queen was approaching them. “That was a beautiful ceremony,” she said, and the Queen smiled, though her eyes were teary.

“Thank you,” she said. “Tomorrow’s affair will be far more lively, after the Gungans arrive.” She turned to address them all in general. “You’re all free to stay, if you’d like to participate in the celebration of midnight and the new day, though I must return to the palace.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Master Qui-Gon said, nodding and smiling gently at her. She nodded back, and then Captain Panaka was leading her away, gently pushing his way through the crowd, though most of them parted for her easily, aside from a few smaller _ade_ who wanted to come up to her. She bore it with good humor, leaning down to allow them to feel the fabric of the sleeves of her voluminous black-and-red dress, and Shmi smiled.

“We should also get back,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin frowned up at him.

“I’m not really that tired--”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “But you will be, tomorrow, if we stay. You still have coursework and lightsaber practice to get through tomorrow morning, Padawan. And we have several more days of this.”

Anakin wilted slightly, scowling even as he nodded. “Fine,” he huffed, and Shmi snorted at him and shook her head. He gave her a look of betrayal, and Shmi raised an eyebrow at him. He flushed.

“Come, then, Ani,” she told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I think we’ll stay,” Master Qui-Gon said with a glance back at Master Dooku, who dipped his head in agreement, if a bit stiffly.

“Where is Satine?” Obi-Wan asked abruptly. Shmi frowned--she had not noticed the young woman slip off. Scanning the crowd, she finally caught sight of her, a shock of white-blonde hair among darker heads, and laughed. She bumped her shoulder with Obi-Wan’s again and pointed in her direction: the girl was standing among a small throng of Naboo, mostly her age, though there were a few older ones, their hair starting to become streaked with grey, and they were all drinking. It appeared to be some sort of contest. Obi-Wan groaned.

“Perhaps you should stay,” Shmi suggested, fighting to keep the laughter from her voice. “I can escort Anakin back to the palace. I believe my counterpart might need looking after, but I fear she would take offense if I remained behind for such a purpose.”

Obi-Wan hesitated, but Master Qui-Gon stepped in. “A fine idea. Thank you for offering, Lady Shmi.”

Anakin looked up hopefully. “Are you _sure_ I can’t stay?”

“Not tonight,” Shmi said firmly. “Come. We’ll find a snack at the palace before bed. Perhaps they’ll have blue milk, hmm?”

Anakin flushed again, but nodded slowly, and she was certain that he, too, was remembering all the times she had given him warm milk before bed. She knew he was growing too old for such coddling, but she did not get to see him much. A few nights couldn’t hurt, she decided.

“Fine, I guess,” he sighed, and turned to Obi-Wan, a stern expression on his face. “ _K’oyacyi._ ”

Obi-Wan laughed. “That’s a bit dramatic for a festival, Padawan. But I will. _Jate ca._ Don’t wait up for me, this time. I have a feeling we’ll be out rather late.” That last was said with a rueful glance at Satine, and Shmi huffed another laugh, and began to steer Anakin back towards the line of speeders the Queen had waiting for them, when they were ready to return to the palace.

* * *

Shmi was not asleep when Obi-Wan found his way back to the palace. When they returned, Shmi and Anakin had gone to the kitchens, where the few cooks on staff were more than happy to find them something. There was no blue milk on Naboo, but there was some sort of delicious, warm, white foam drink that accomplished the same soothing effect. After that, Shmi had escorted Anakin to the room he shared with Obi-Wan, and he had invited her in.

They had talked for quite a while, about everything and nothing--Anakin’s friends, at the Temple, and his classes, Shmi’s budding relationship with Kain, and the recent events on Mandalore--until Anakin finally could no longer hold back his yawns. Shmi had smiled gently at him and risen from the chair, intending to leave, but Anakin’s eyes had gone wide and pleading, and he looked so much younger than he truly was.

“Stay?” he asked. “Just until Master Obi-Wan gets back?”

And how could she have said no? Shmi had stripped down to her blacks, gently laying out the armor on the floor in front of Anakin’s bed, and then laid down beside him, holding out one arm for him to lay with his head on her chest, wrapping the arm around him loosely as he fell asleep.

But Shmi had remained awake. She had not pulled the curtains to cover the large windows, and she stared out at Ar-Amu--so _bright_ here, on Naboo, as it was so much closer to the planet than Tatooine’s moon was--and thanked her for the life she had been given, and the life her _ad_ had been given.

She did not exactly know how much time had passed, when Obi-Wan returned from the festival, but the moon was high in the sky, and she knew it was late. And he did not enter immediately--but Shmi knew he was there as she heard his voice just outside the door.

“Satine…”

“Just tell me _why,_ Obi-Wan,” Shmi heard the young woman say--and she _sounded_ so young, with the thinly-veiled hurt in her voice. “Why would you refuse me, only to swear the _Resol’nare?_ Only to swear yourself to _Jango Fett?_ ”

“The _Mand’alor_ did not ask me to _choose,_ ” Obi-Wan said, raising his voice slightly. Shmi glanced down at Anakin, but he was still fast asleep. “He did not force me to swear anything that would conflict with my vows to the Order, and he certainly did not ask me _leave._ ”

“I never asked you to leave the Order for me,” Satine argued, becoming just as heated, her sadness giving way to her sharp temper. “I only thought that… We are _more_ to each other than friends. We can choose not to speak of it as much as we like, but that truth is always there between us. Was it so wrong for me to want _more?_ Is it so wrong for me to want to _act_ on such feelings?”

“Not for _you_ ,” Obi-Wan snapped, and then there was a moment of tense silence. “But I couldn’t, Satine. _Ni cuyi Jetii._ You know our rules.”

There was another long silence, and then Satine said, “It would be so much easier to walk away from you if you could only say that you feel nothing for me in return.” She laughed, then, but it was a rough, bitter sound that made Shmi wince. “But you’ve never been a liar.”

“Satine, I…”

They went silent again for a long moment, and Shmi bit her lip. She could only imagine what was going on between them on the other side of that door, and she was grateful that Anakin had slept through it.

Finally, the door opened, and Obi-Wan stood there. He looked flushed, and his hair was disheveled, looking distinctly as though someone had run their hands through it. Shmi gave him a knowing smile and raised an eyebrow at him. Obi-Wan paused, his hand still on the handle of the door, half-opened, standing in the doorway and staring at her.

“Oh,” he said slowly. He glanced down at Anakin and grimaced. “I suppose you heard that?”

“I did,” she confirmed. “But Anakin slept through it all.”

“Thank the _ka’ra_ for that,” Obi-Wan muttered, shaking his head.

“I won’t speak to him of what I heard,” Shmi assured him, and he smiled tightly in thanks. “But if _you_ ever wish to speak of it, I will listen.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” he murmured. “You’re welcome to stay the rest of the night, if you’d like.”

Shmi shook her head. “ _Nayc._ There are those in this palace who do not know us well, and I wouldn’t want to give them an impression of impropriety.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly in understanding, beginning to strip off his own _beskar’gam_ as Shmi slowly, carefully extracted herself from Anakin’s grasp and rose to put her own back on.

“ _Jate ca,_ ” Shmi murmured to Obi-Wan, pausing to squeeze his arm. He smiled tiredly at her, his eyes a bit red, and Shmi did not believe that it was entirely from the late hour and the large quantity of alcohol he’d no doubt consumed that evening.

“ _Jate ca._ ”

* * *

Breakfast the following morning was served in one of the gardens, a bright and cheerful place. Owen again sought out Anakin, likely because he was the only other child there, but the two got along well. Owen was bright and curious, and the two shared a surprising number of friends from their homeworld, and so had plenty to talk about. Satine, Shmi noted, seemed to be avoiding Obi-Wan, and would not even meet his gaze, and had instead approached Lord Bibble and the Queen. Shmi frowned lightly--looking a bit more closely, the Queen seemed… different today. She snorted to herself, recalling the ruse they had used before, replacing the Queen with one of her handmaidens. She wondered what the _true_ Queen was up to this morning, and noted at almost the same instant that Master Windu was also missing, but did not have long to ponder the question as Lady Bonteri sat herself across from Shmi and they easily resumed their debate from the previous evening, arguing the natures of peace and duty.

“And I would argue, Lady Skywalker, that we have an inherent _duty_ to peace itself,” Lady Bonteri said.

“And I agree wholeheartedly,” Shmi said easily, causing Lady Bonteri to blink in surprise. Shmi smiled, and then tilted her head thoughtfully. “The _Resol’nare,_ the Six Tenets of Mandalorian culture, includes an oath to self-defense. _Not_ conquest. We do not shy away from a fight when it comes, but we will not hesitate to defend ourselves, or our honor, if necessary. We are similar to our hosts in that way.”

“And I must say, I am delighted to have the opportunity to learn what other similarities may exist between us.” Shmi looked up, resisting the urge to frown as she saw Lord Palpatine approach them. “May I?” He gestured to the empty chair, and Shmi nodded slowly.

“Tell me, Lord Palpatine,” Lady Bonteri said, inviting him more fully into their discussion, “what do the people of Naboo believe about duty?”

“Ah, that is complex,” he sighed. “Our first duty is to the Goddess, of course, as she is the foundation of all life. Our second is to our family in particular, and our third to our fellow sentients in general. It pains us all, to see suffering in the galaxy.”

“Then do you not have a duty to end their suffering?” Shmi asked--perhaps a bit pointedly, but still polite enough. Lord Palpatine blinked at her in surprise.

“We do what we can,” Lord Palpatine sighed, shaking his head. “But it is never _enough._ There is so much… _chaos_ in the galaxy, and we are but one people. But we do what we can, mere sentients that we are.”

 _Do you?_ Shmi wanted to ask, but knew it would be rude. Instead, she filed away his comments for future reference as the Queen gathered their attention again.

“Good morning,” she said, and her voice was just a _bit_ lower than the true Queen’s, but she was a passable imitation to anyone who was not looking for the differences. “I thank you all for your attendance last night. Remembrance Day is a bittersweet time for us, and it is made easier and our burdens lighter by the presences of our friends.” She paused for a polite round of murmured affirmatives, and then she smiled at them again. “Today’s agenda is less rigid than yesterday’s. I have nothing planned for you until mid-afternoon, when the celebrations for Friendship Day will begin. Please, take the opportunity to rest, if you wish, or to explore the palace and the city. We will find guides for those of you who wish to do so.”

A murmured chorus of thanks was interrupted by a high-pitched giggle, and everyone turned to look to the entrance to the garden, an archway, covered in the vines Naboo was known for, where Jinto was chasing after a small child--Trilla, Shmi realized, and she smiled.

“Trilla, please get back here!”

“ _No!_ ” the girl called back, sounding playful, and continued running--

Right up to Anakin. She stopped just in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “You’re really bright! And loud.”

Anakin flushed. “Uh, sorry?”

“I’m terribly sorry, everyone,” Jinto said, flushing a bit himself as he strode over to collect Trilla.

“It’s quite alright, Sir Suduri,” the Queen said, and it looked as though she was trying not to laugh. Out of the corner of her eye, Shmi saw Lord Palpatine shift slightly, and glanced at him quickly. He was frowning thoughtfully at the little girl. “We were just finishing up. Please, everyone: enjoy yourselves today. We offer our hospitality to you, and may you go with the Goddess.”

The meal more officially concluded, Shmi rose and nodded quickly to Lady Bonteri and Lord Palpatine before making her way over to Jinto, touching his arm.

“I’m glad to see that you brought her here,” Shmi murmured, and Jinto smiled somewhat helplessly, the expression of a flustered parent almost at their wit’s end.

“The minute we reached the palace, she insisted on coming straight here. She said she… ‘felt’ something.”

“Not _something,_ ” Master Qui-Gon said, coming to stand beside them, sounding amused, “so much as _someone._ ”

Trilla poked Anakin’s cheek, and he frowned at her. She giggled. “Can you fly?” she asked. Anakin perked up and nodded.

“I sure can! I flew with your _buir,_ in the Battle of Theed--”

Trilla shook her head. “No, can you _really_ fly?” she asked, and Anakin paused, confused by what she meant. “I can fly! Watch this!”

“ _No._ ” They all looked up at the command, and Shmi frowned at how pale Obi-Wan suddenly looked. His expression was… blank, and she found it troubling. Of the _Jetiise_ Shmi had encountered, he had always been the most expressive. “Not here, young one. Perhaps we could go somewhere more comfortable?”

And his eyes darted to the side, and Shmi quickly followed his gaze, frown deepening as she saw he had looked to the table Lord Palpatine was now rising from. He was still speaking to Lady Bonteri, but he looked their way as if sensing their gazes, and Shmi forced a smile onto her face before turning back to Obi-Wan.

“That’s a wonderful suggestion,” Shmi said, and Obi-Wan shot her a quietly grateful look. “Perhaps the hangars? I’m sure, as one of the pilot’s daughters, that that would be a familiar and comfortable place for her.”

“I like the ships,” Trilla agreed, smiling at her. “And the droids!” She was a cute _adiik,_ Shmi thought absently, and somehow she knew that Trilla would become a beautiful woman. She had the same dark coloring as her father did, and the same intelligence and humor that sparkled in his eyes was echoed in hers.

“Me too,” Anakin agreed, and Trilla beamed.

* * *

Trilla was a charming little girl, as well as adorable, Shmi thought as she watched Master Qui-Gon and Anakin gently guide her in showing them what she could do with the Force. At that moment, Anakin and Trilla were tossing some piece of equipment back and forth to each other with the Force, Jinto looking on with a conflicted expression.

But most of Shmi’s attention was focused on Obi-Wan. He stood with his back to the wall of the hangar, his arms folded over his chest, expression inscrutable. But his eyes were stormy grey, and Shmi knew that _something_ was bothering him. She approached him slowly, and said nothing for a moment as they two of them watched as Trilla clapped her hands delightedly when Anakin pulled the piece of metal back to himself, and then held out his hand.

“Now you _pull_ it to you!” he called to her, and Trilla nodded, beaming at him.

“She is strong in the Force, isn’t she?” Shmi asked, keeping her voice quiet and her tone neutral. Obi-Wan nodded stiffly.

“ _Elek._ ”

“What’s wrong with her?” Shmi asked, and Obi-Wan blinked, and then glanced at her briefly, frowning, before returning his attention to the two _ade._

“Nothing is wrong with _her,_ ” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Another vision?” Shmi asked, alarmed. Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“While you’re all occupied, Shmi and I are going to work on the _Prudii_ ’s hyperdrive. It could use a tune-up,” Obi-Wan called. Master Qui-Gon nodded and returned to supervising. Obi-Wan jerked his head to his ship, and Shmi nodded, following close behind him. Once they were inside, Obi-Wan closed the hatch and flicked on the electrical systems, punching at a few buttons. “I need… tea.”

Shmi nodded slowly and again followed him as he went to the small galley, making them tea. He seemed… tense, his shoulders tight, his jaw clenched, but he sat and sighed, his shoulders slumping as he handed her a mug of tea.

“ _Vor’e._ ” He nodded, staring down into his own cup for a long moment before speaking again himself.

“The _Prudii_ has jammers,” he said slowly. “We’re safe in here.” Shmi nodded slowly, and he leaned back. “I _was_ planning on waiting until we got to Kamino for this conversation, but…”

“The girl has changed things.”

Obi-Wan nodded, grimacing. He took a sip of his tea and set it back down carefully. “Has Anakin told you… What do you know of the Dark Side of the Force?”

Shmi frowned. “It is used by the enemies of the Jedi, like the one you killed here several years ago. The Sith. It draws on negative emotions, such as rage and hate.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “And it corrupts _absolutely._ Once you have touched the Dark Side of the Force, you will _always_ feel its temptation.” He shivered. “And those who _have_ touched it are… forever marked, to those who can see it.” At last, he met her eyes, something curious and searching in his gaze that made her frown. “What made you ask about Lord Palpatine?”

Shmi’s stomach sank. “He doesn’t seem… _right._ There is something… cold about him. I cannot quite put my finger on it.”

He stared at her for a moment longer and then barked a laugh. “That is still more than the entire High Council of the Order could sense. And _how_ you did it is another mystery.” Shmi frowned, not understanding what he meant. “Later. That _can_ wait until Kamino. But the situation with Trilla has become… rather urgent.”

“What do you mean?” Shmi asked slowly.

“I have reason to believe that Palpatine is, at the very least, being manipulated by the Sith,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “If the girl is left here, and not taken to the Temple… We’d be offering her up to them, neatly wrapped in a little bow.” He spat that last part, and Shmi’s frown deepened. Impulsively, she reached across the table to touch his arm.

“Do you have any proof?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “No.”

“Then what makes you believe that Palpatine is connected to the Sith, and not simply another self-serving politician? That would also explain why he feels… _wrong,_ ” Shmi argued, though she doubted her own words even as they fell from her lips. Obi-Wan grimaced.

“You know I am given to prescience,” he said slowly. “It is how I knew about Kamino before you told me, and also what leads me to believe that Palpatine is either a pawn or a _member_ of the Sith.”

Shmi sighed. “So, nothing admissible in court, then, if we were to be tried for killing him,” she said, and shook her head.

Obi-Wan barked a laugh, and then continued laughing, until there were tears in his eyes. He seemed almost… manic. Shmi tightened her grip on his arm, and he slowly stopped laughing, though the last sound was suspiciously close to a hiccup, and she wondered if he was about to cry. Distantly, Shmi felt _worry_ bubble up. She had never seen him so unbalanced before.

But he blinked away the sheen of tears and shook his head. “ _Mandokarla._ Do you know what most Jedi would do when faced with a Sith?” Shmi shook her head. “They would try to _arrest_ them.”

Shmi frowned and tilted her head. “Correct me if I am misinformed, but I understand that they are sworn never to be taken alive.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “You aren’t wrong.”

“Then that is suicide, to attempt an arrest rather than at least aiming for permanent disability,” Shmi said simply. Obi-Wan flinched. “Is that what you saw in your vision?” He nodded slowly, and she understood the gravity of what that probably meant: in his vision, he had seen another _Jetii_ , perhaps even a friend of his, fall to the Sith. “My heart feels for yours, _vod._ ”

He looked up at that, managing a small smile for her, and he turned his arm over in her grasp to clasp her own arm with his hand. Shmi smiled back softly, encouragingly. They remained that way for a moment, and then Obi-Wan took a deep breath, his composure regained. Shmi nodded to him and drew back to drink her own tea.

“Is there some way we might force him to reveal his… alliances?” Shmi asked. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Perhaps, but… We can’t take him out of the game yet,” Obi-Wan said. Shmi frowned, and he sighed. “I don’t like it either, but we have no other choice. The Sith abide by what is called the Rule of Two. There may only ever be two of them, to ensure their secrecy: a Master, and an apprentice. We know that Darth Maul--the Sith we encountered here three years ago--was an apprentice, but we do not know the identity of the other. At times, there may be three, as the apprentice prepares an apprentice of their own in the hopes of facing and killing their own Master.” Shmi grimaced. It… sounded surprisingly like the ancient Mandalorian rules for claiming the title of _Mand’alor_ by Challenge. But she knew that they had reformed, in later years--Jango, after all, had been named Jaster Mereel’s heir apparent, and then the rest of the _Haat Mando’ade_ had reached unanimous agreement, naming Jango _Mand’alor_ after Mereel’s death, which had certainly _not_ been at Jango’s hand.

Obi-Wan must have gotten a sense of her thoughts, because he sighed. “The ancient Sith were allies with Mandalore, that much is true. They had a certain… cultural influence over one another.” He shook his head. “But that is beside the point. We _know_ that there is another Sith out there--two of them, if Palpatine is only a pawn and not a Sith Lord himself--but we don’t know _who they are._ And that is dangerous, far more dangerous than allowing someone we _know_ to watch to continue to move freely, but under intense scrutiny. And besides, if we accused him, even only to warn the Queen, as _friends,_ without any conclusive _proof..._ ”

Shmi nodded slowly. She did not _like it,_ but she understood the decision. “And you fear for Trilla because if she is left here, on Naboo, and Palpatine _is_ working with the Sith, or _is_ one of them…”

He nodded stiffly. “ _Elek._ Her best chance is with us--her _only_ chance is with us.”

“Her _buir_ does not want to give her up,” Shmi said slowly. Obi-Wan grimaced.

“I can sense his reluctance, yes,” Obi-Wan said. “But we _must_ convince him. I will not leave her to that fate.”

Shmi nodded decisively. “I will help you. I know what it is to give up an _adiik_ in the hope that they will have a better life. And… I shall not give him a name, but I will remind him of the Sith’s existence, and their lurking threat, if that is what it takes.”

Obi-Wan nodded more slowly in agreement, though his expression was still tight. “ _Vor entye._ ”

Shmi smiled, and began to sip her tea in earnest. It really was quite good, and it was impolite to leave a cup unfinished, after all. And if the tea gave them an excuse to linger a few moments, and Obi-Wan took those few moments to recompose himself, Shmi would say nothing about it.

Thankfully, they had a few days for Jinto to make his choice, and Shmi and Obi-Wan returned to leaning against the wall to watch Trilla interact with Master Qui-Gon and Anakin. She seemed _fascinated_ by them both, but Anakin in particular, asking him all sorts of questions about the Jedi, the Temple, his classes, his friends, _everything_ the _adiik_ could think of. Anakin seemed both pleased and embarrassed by the attention, which made Shmi smile. Her _ad_ had always thrived on praise, but it was a slave’s greatest advantage to go relatively unnoticed, overlooked. Hiding in plain sight was safest, and that was one of his earliest lessons. Shmi was glad to see that he was unlearning it, as she had had to, and sometimes still struggled with commanding attention even when she needed to, though her other _ade_ had helped.

Shmi looked to Jinto periodically, and he seemed to have relaxed as Anakin took over most of the explanations, Master Qui-Gon clearly only there to supervise them. The trust that he had in Anakin was heartwarming, and it made a certain amount of sense, given what Anakin had done during the Battle of Theed--if Jinto was a pilot, and he’d been in the air during all of that, he would’ve seen it himself.

Finally, a silver-and-blue astromech rolled over to them and beeped low at Anakin, who laughed and shook his head. “R2 says it’s time to meet up with everybody to go to the Friendship Day festival.”

“I can go too?” Trilla asked, looking up at Jinto, who grinned broadly at her.

“Of course.” She grinned and clapped her hands, rising and tugging Anakin’s hand.

“ _C’mon,_ let’s _go!_ ”

Anakin laughed brightly and nodded. “Lead the way!”

Shmi smiled. “He was never this good with the younger _ade_ before.”

Obi-Wan laughed wryly beside her. “His time in the Temple creche served him well. He learned the value of living in a community, and helping to raise the younger ones. He _knew_ some of that from watching you, but it’s one thing to _know it_ and another to _do it._ ”

Shmi smiled softly and he grinned back, taking his turn to bump their shoulders together, their _beskar’gam_ clinking quietly.

* * *

There were more decorations in the city center, now, streamers and banners strung across the area, interspersed with those glowing blue balls-- _plasma,_ Obi-Wan had told her, and that sent Shmi’s mind reeling for a moment, that they so casually harnessed _plasma_ to create _jewelry_ and _decorations_ \--and this time, there were Gungans mixed in with the Naboo, some already playing something upbeat on drums, and others laughing and playing with the Naboo _ade_ who clearly found them so fascinating, and others getting a headstart on the drinking. Shmi was beginning to think that the entirety of these three days of celebration were really just an excuse to drink to excess.

Several horns sounded in unison, and that brought everyone’s attention to the dais, where the Queen was accompanied as she ascended the stairs by a rather rotund Gungan with a large headdress. Boss Nass, Shmi recalled from the information packet from the _Kaminiise._

“Greetings, humans of the Naboo!” the Gungan greeted them, his voice booming. A ripple of cheers and vague greetings sounded, and he grinned at them all and held up his hands; silence fell again, and he turned to the Queen, who was also smiling widely.

“Three years ago, on this very day, the Naboo and Gungan peoples ended the separation that had always existed between us,” the Queen said; Shmi could tell, even from here, that it was the real Queen now, under the heavy makeup. “And that friendship has brought us both nothing but peace, and prosperity--for _all_ of Naboo.”

Another round of cheering sounded, and the Gungan on the dais shook his head furiously, making some low noise as he did so, spittle flying from his mouth. The Queen laughed brightly, and Shmi assumed it was a gesture of agreement, or enthusiasm.

“As we follow our new tradition,” the Queen said, “the Naboo have a gift for the Gungan people.” She nodded to one of the red-cloaked handmaidens around the dais, and the girl stepped forward to place a large holoprojector on the dais, crouching down to activate it. A massive image sprung forth, showing a map of the countryside around Theed. “This marsh has been uninhabitable for the Naboo for centuries; we would never drain it, as we know that the Goddess created the marsh for a purpose. We have found what that purpose is.” She nodded again to the handmaiden, who clicked another button, and the image changed, still showing the same bit of land, but now with a dome enclosing it. “We offer this land to the Gungans, to build a city there. As an amphibious people, they can make use of the marsh without destroying it, and living more closely together can only strengthen the bonds we have formed.”

Boss Nass looked pleased, and he shook his head again, flapping his jowls, and Shmi confirmed that it was _definitely_ a gesture of enthusiasm.

“Dissun issun honor for the Gungans!” the man declared, and cheering went up. “In return, _weesa_ having a gift for _yousa._ ” He nodded to a Gungan beside the dais, and the handmaiden powered down the projector and scurried off as the other, slimmer Gungan moved forward to place theirs. Nass nodded, and the other powered it on. As before, a map came up, showing Theed this time. “Yousa finally finishing the repairs to Theed only six cycles ago. Weesa being friends, now, and weesa never wanting to see again our friend’s city damaged.” He gestured to the projector, and the other Gungan hit the switch again; in the projection, a dome slowly came to rise over the city, and the crowd murmured. “Weesa being building Gungan shield generators around the city! When yousa in battle, if yousa ever are again, thissun will be protecting the city, and the Naboo! And weesa have _more_ generators to put on yousa other cities. Weesa being friends! And the Gungans--weesa protecting oursun _friends._ ”

The crowd seemed to be holding their breath, and Shmi realized they were waiting for the Queen’s acceptance of the gift before cheering. The Queen smiled broadly. “Thank you, Boss Nass, and to all the Gungan people. This is a thoughtful gift, and it shows your tremendous care for us.” 

The crowd cheered again, and then Boss Nass held up his hands for silence once more, and gestured to the Queen, who smiled at him for a moment before addressing the crowd again. “Today, we remember how the Invasion made us _stronger._ We remember how we forged our bonds of friendship in the face of conflict.”

“ _Thissun_ isun our victory!” Boss Nass cried, and the crowd cheered. “Weesa remembering the day the Gungans and the Naboo became friends. Weesa renewing our friendship! And weesa having _peace!_ ”

“ _Peace!_ ” the crowd cried out excitedly, and with a nod shared between Boss Nass and the Queen, the Gungans began to play an upbeat tune. The Queen curtsied to the crowd, clearly finished, but Boss Nass grinned widely and impulsively swept her up into a jaunty, if humorously uncoordinated, dance. The Queen looked startled, but laughed brightly, and did her best to fall into step with him. Around them, the crowd roared even louder, and many others began dancing as well, seemingly grabbing partners at random and sweeping one another up, Gungans dancing with the Naboo, children with adults, other children holding hands to form circles around some of the dancers.

Shmi felt a _tug_ on her hand, and she spun around--there was Anakin, grinning widely at her, and she laughed and allowed him to begin leading her clumsily in circles. Around her, she saw many of the other ambassadors doing the same--Speaker Birna and her wife had begun dancing, laughing brightly as they twirled; Cliegg was dancing with Lady Bonteri, broad smiles on both of their faces; Satine had been swept up by one of the Royal Guard--or, judging by his expression and her interactions with Obi-Wan, _he_ had been swept up by _her;_ the Geonosians weren’t dancing so much as they were flying around in circles and clicking loudly, but it had attracted a crowd of curious and gleeful children, which made Shmi laugh delightedly; Master Qui-Gon was holding Trilla on his hip, spinning her around as Jinto watched with a broad smile; Obi-Wan had found two little Naboo girls and had one on each hip as he swayed, bounced, and spun, making them laugh and cheer; and Master Dooku…

Master Dooku looked _distinctly_ uncomfortable, but was dancing with a boisterous _adiik_ with a shock of springy, blonde curls. The little girl was smiling broadly, seemingly unaware of Master Dooku’s unease, and Shmi laughed brightly at the sight of it.

When the tune began to change, she and Anakin broke off, as did many others, although there were a fair few still dancing. Boss Nass finally released the Queen, who curtsied to him, and he chuckled heartily before bowing in return. Together, they made their way off of the dais and into the crowd, mingling a bit even as they slowly made their way to the speeders.

Shmi smiled as she watched Obi-Wan give the girls back to their parents, all of them grinning broadly, and then he made his way over to them.

“Can I please stay this time?” Anakin asked, looking wide-eyed and hopeful. It made him seem younger than nearly-thirteen.

Obi-Wan laughed. “I don’t see why not; the festivities today are starting far earlier than they did last night. And the Gungans are going to be setting off some… ‘bombad sparklers,’ I believe their description was. We wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Anakin whooped. “Fireworks? This is gonna be _great._ C’mon, _buir,_ Master! Let’s go find good spots!”

But before it got dark enough for the fireworks--and would _those_ also be plasma? Shmi could hardly fathom it--there were a variety of other activities set up. There were Gungans showing off their kaadu mounts, who seemed to be soaking up the pats and the attention from the children crowding them with great enthusiasm, sometimes headbutting the children gently as they tried to walk away, asking for further attention, and the Naboo had grabbed their own instruments and begun to play with the Gungans. There were games for the smaller children, including a little mock shooting range where they could use slingshots to hit cutouts of droids, which made Shmi laugh. Anakin took a turn, and unsurprisingly, he was quite good at it. He won a stuffed kaadu that he promptly gave to Trilla, who squealed and hugged his leg. After that, they visited the food stalls, and Shmi laughed at Obi-Wan’s flummoxed expression when she chose a charred frog meant to be eaten by Gungans. She had eaten frogs before, on Tatooine; there had been many of them, in the lower levels of Gardulla’s palace, and easily caught when she had not fed them enough. They were an acquired taste, to be sure, but Shmi had grown to enjoy them, and found that it inspired far more nostalgia than pain now to eat them.

Finally, the sun began to set, and the crowd came mostly to a halt, remaining in place to wait for the “bombad sparklers” they’d been promised, although the musicians continued to play.

The Gungan drummers began playing low and fast, and then Shmi caught sight of something launching into the air. A moment later, the music picked up again as it exploded into a crackling purple-blue light, almost like the lightning on Kamino. Shmi laughed brightly and watched as they sent up another, and another, and another. There were different colors, too, red and green and orange crackling out across the sky, glittering against the darkness. It was beautiful. On a whim, Shmi tugged Anakin closer to her and rested both hands on his shoulders, her chin on his head. He leaned back against her, and she smiled.

For now, everything was _perfect._

Yet Shmi had not forgotten Obi-Wan’s warning, and tomorrow was Freedom Day itself. She knew that any attack on the celebrations, or on one of the delegates, or even the Queen or Boss Nass, would come then. It would make a far larger statement, waiting until the climax of the festivities to act against them. It would inspire greater _fear._

But she had tonight, at least, with her _ad_ and these _Jetiise_ who had worked their way into her heart. For tonight, Shmi was content to let tomorrow’s worries wait until tomorrow came.

Shmi turned back to the fireworks, focusing on the beautiful cascade of color and light, and the warm, solid feeling of Anakin against her.

Yes, everything was perfect. If only just for now.

* * *

It was early enough that Shmi had only barely just gotten out of the shower and strapped on her _beskar’gam,_ her hair still damp and unbound, when someone knocked on the door.

“Come,” she called idly, sitting down at the dressing table to wind her hair up into a more practical bun.

“Shmi.”

She turned, frowning at Obi-Wan’s tone. He looked grave, and she frowned. “What is it?”

“Quinlan--Knight Vos--told me that he heard some chatter last night. Several of the Royal Advisory Council aides were warned not to attend the Freedom Day festival,” Obi-Wan said. Shmi sighed.

“Your bad feeling…” He nodded. “Does he have any idea what might happen?”

“ _Nayc_ ,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head slowly. “He is looking into it, but we don’t have much time. The Queen refuses to call off the celebration unless we can provide her some sort of _proof._ ” He sighed and tugged a hand through his hair. “The only thing we can do is be on guard.”

Shmi nodded and rose, holding out her right hand. Obi-Wan clasped it, hand-to-elbow. “I’m with you, _vod._ We’ll do what we can.”

* * *

Shmi did not each much for breakfast that day, too high-strung to stomach much. Obi-Wan, she noticed, was in the same predicament. Anakin frowned at them both from across the table, noting their mostly-full plates and shaking his head.

“Are we going to train after this?”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “No. The other Masters have agreed to give the ambassadors and the Queen’s Council that demonstration they requested. I’d like to take the time to meditate.” Anakin’s face turned to one of disappointment, and Shmi laughed lightly. Obi-Wan snorted. “Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t mind if you wish to spend the morning with Shmi; perhaps we could let you continue mingling with the others.”

Anakin grinned broadly and nodded. “ _Vor’e,_ Master. I think I will.”

Obi-Wan nodded, giving Anakin a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Shmi pursed her lips. It must be awful, having the Force to tell you _something_ was coming, but having no idea what, or precisely when.

But, if Shmi were a betting woman--which she most certainly was _not,_ as she thought it a disgusting habit that she’d seen quite enough of on Tatooine, thank you very much--she would guess that they would strike during the the ceremony itself, when all of the important figures were on the dais. Maximum effect with minimal effort. She could almost see it: the Queen in regal black, white, and red, arms spread wide as she faced her people, Boss Nass beside her, the _Jetiise_ and the pilots behind her, all smiling broadly, only for it all to be broken in an instant as the stone steps shattered and sudden flames rose up, smoke and dust obscuring most of the dais from view--

Shmi blinked, her sight clearing, and she was staring down at her plate again. She looked up at Obi-Wan, frowning. “Tell your friend to check for explosives.”

Obi-Wan blinked at her, and then cocked his head to the side. “I will, but what made you suggest it?”

Shmi shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s only… a feeling.”

The look he gave her was heavy, measuring, but he nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll go tell him now.” Obi-Wan rose and smiled at Anakin. “I’ll see you after lunch, Padawan. Be mindful.”

“I will,” Anakin assured him, watching as he left the room. Then he turned on Shmi, his brow furrowed. “ _Explosives?_ ”

Shmi sighed. “Let us go somewhere more… private. I’m sure Obi-Wan would have warned you, but… he has much to consider at the moment.”

Anakin nodded slowly, glancing down at his food before pushing his plate away. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Shmi took Anakin onto the _Prudii,_ engaging the electrical systems as she had seen Obi-Wan do, and quietly warned him about the threat to the ceremony. Anakin had just groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I _knew it,_ ” he muttered. “I knew _something_ had to go wrong. Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon’s missions _never_ go like they’re supposed to.”

Shmi had huffed a laugh, finding that oddly reassuring. They were still _alive_ after all of that, which was what truly counted. They left the ship quickly to join the others in the hangar proper, watching the _Jetiise_ spar. It was impressive, their movements fast and intense, but there was an undercurrent of _playfulness_ that made her smile. The more she observed the _Jetiise,_ the more she wondered how any could think them unfeeling. The affection they held for each other--their _Jetii_ family--was obvious, at least to Shmi’s eyes.

After that came lunch, and then they all departed for their own rooms to begin readying themselves for the festival. Shmi had nothing more to do to be ready, as she already had on her _beskar’gam_ and had her vibroblade and twin blaster pistols on either hip, and so she followed Anakin back to his room. Obi-Wan was seated cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting palm-up on his knees, his eyes closed. He opened them as they entered, giving them both a smile. It was still tight, but he _did_ look better than he had earlier that morning. Shmi wondered if he’d been replacing proper sleep with meditation again, as Anakin had told her he often did.

“Quinlan has yet to find anything,” he said without preamble. “But there is some good news, at least. The Queen conceded to having a decoy conduct the ceremony, though she will still be in attendance.”

Shmi felt a flash of _relief,_ and she smiled. “ _Jate._ ”

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan said seriously, and Anakin straightened, nodding to show he was listening and meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze readily, his own expression intense. “Only Captain Panaka will know which one of them is the true Queen, and the rest of the Royal Guard will focus on the decoy, if anything should happen. I would ask that you stick close to Padme tonight, and act as her protector.”

Anakin _blushed,_ and Shmi blinked. Was that… Did her _ad_ have his first real _crush?_ Oh, Anakin had idolized the Queen, when they had come to Tatooine, but he had hardly been old enough to consider her in _that_ way… 

“Gee, what a burden, Master,” Anakin said flippantly, clearly trying to hide his pleasure at the request. “The things you ask of me!”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and shook his head. “ _Vor’e,_ Padawan,” he drawled dryly. Anakin laughed and nodded back. “Well then. Are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Anakin said, perhaps a bit more seriously than Shmi was used to from him, and she met his eyes and smiled grimly.

“ _K’oyacyi._ ” This time, it did not feel too dramatic for a festival. Shmi’s pulse picked up.

* * *

They had nearly reached the square where the celebration would be held--a different area of the city than the previous few, and from what Shmi understood, this was where the original Freedom Day celebration just after the Invasion had taken place--when Obi-Wan caught Shmi’s elbow gently, pausing their steps. Shmi frowned at his earnest expression, the shadows in his eyes.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked, voice low. She nodded immediately.

“If it is within my power.”

Obi-Wan smiled, but again, it did not reach his eyes, still flinty grey. “Watch out for Satine?”

Shmi smiled gently and nodded again. “Of course, _vod._ ”

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied, and they walked into the square. They were all required on the high platform atop the stone stairs; apparently the Queen wished to acknowledge Naboo’s new friends as well as their old ones. They reached the top where everyone was milling around, and Shmi gave Obi-Wan a significant _look_ and reached out to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder before making her way to Satine, who was speaking with Cliegg. The two of them seemed to have gotten on well, and Shmi was glad to see it. Although Cliegg seemed to be getting on well with _everyone,_ including the Geonosians and Lady Bonteri.

“Ah, Shmi! We were just talking about Mos Espa--”

He was cut off by the now-familiar sound of Gungan trumpets, the drums picking up just after. It was time. Shmi gave him an apologetic smile and got into line, not-quite-touching Satine’s shoulder with her own. The other ambassadors lined up beside them, and the _Jetiise_ on the other side of the dais.

A procession, one line of Gungans and another line of Naboo, ascended the steps, and Shmi bit back a laugh as she recognized Jar Jar Binks, clearly trying to look as collected and regal as possible. With his unsteady gait, however, he was not doing a terribly good job of it. The Gungans and Naboo filled in the line between the ambassadors and the _Jetiise_ , and then Boss Nass and the Queen took their places in the center of the stage.

The band continued to play as the crowd cheered, and Boss Nass and the Queen took each other’s hand, raising both arms into the air, and then Shmi looked up as she heard the sound of ships; there, flying in formation, were the bright yellow fighters of the Royal Guard. Shmi frowned--they were flying low, but not so low that it should have made that particular _whistling_ sound--

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as horrified realization hit her: it wasn’t a bomb she’d seen in that… vision. It was a _rocket._

Shmi decided that preparation was more important than observation, and she quickly jammed the _buy’ce_ she’d been carrying under one arm on her head and turned to Satine. Without warning or explanation, Shmi tackled her to sit hunched on one of the steps, shielding Satine’s body with her own and wrapping her arms around the younger woman--Shmi was armored, after all. Satine was not.

“ _What--_ ”

Satine’s question was cut off by the deafening _roar_ of the impact, and Shmi felt both heat and chunks of the stone steps hitting her back as she clung to Satine. When the first wave seemed to be over, Shmi leaned back slightly.

“ _Tion’jate?_ ” Shmi asked briskly. Satine nodded slowly.

“ _Jate. Vor entye,_ ” she said, and gave Shmi a toothy smile. She glanced down at Shmi’s blaster pistols. “Do either of those have a stun setting?”

Shmi, safe beneath the cover of her _buy’ce,_ abandoned propriety and rolled her eyes even as she pulled one from its holster and handed it to her.

“ _Elek._ ”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Satine said, flicking the controls until it was at the lowest stun level. Shmi huffed in exasperation--even when someone tried to _blow them up_ she refused to try to kill them. There was pacifism, and then there was… _this._

“Get everyone to the throne room!” Captain Panaka called. “We’ll be secure there, and we can regroup and figure out what the _Hels_ just happened.”

A chorus of affirmatives sounded, some shakier than others, and Shmi glanced at the other delegates to make sure that they would be alright. Speaker Birna and her wife were guarding Cliegg and Owen, and several of the Royal Guard surrounded Lady Bonteri and the Geonosians, although the insectoids looked as though they were ready to fight. She wondered how good they might be. The Royal Guard had surrounded the false Queen, as Obi-Wan had known they would, and a group of Gungans were already leading Boss Nass away, though several Gungans remained with the Royal Guard, holding their strange spears and plasma weapons at the ready.

“Follow behind me; I have _beskar’gam,_ and you do not,” Shmi ordered Satine, who nodded, looking grim. Master Windu led the way down the stairs, stopping to help the Naboo and the Gungans over large, missing chunks of the steps and guiding them around the fire and smoke, and as they passed through the worst of the fire, the smoke clearing, everyone stilled.

There were Naboo and Gungans running wildly, panicked, pushing at each other in their haste to get _away._ But just there, standing at the foot of the now-ruined steps, was a Zabrak with light green and black markings. Shmi did not know much about Zabraks, but she guessed he was young. Behind him were three figures in black armor, all identical, and fully covered, their faces hidden behind featureless black masks.

She could not have said why, in light of the flames still burning only a few feet behind them, but Shmi felt a _chill_ run down her spine.

“Kenobi,” the Zabrak called. “You killed my brother. I am here to claim revenge, in his name, and the name of my Master.”

With that, the Zabrak and the black-clad figures all readied their weapons-- _lightsabers._ As one, they ignited them with that familiar _snap-hiss,_ but their blades… Shmi knew little, really, about the Dark Side of the Force. But even she knew what a red lightsaber meant, and she swallowed hard. She was looking at four _Sith._

Shmi took her blaster pistol in one hand, and her vibroblade in the other. Turning slightly to Satine, she smiled under the _buy’ce,_ grim and toothy, and said, “ _K’oyacyi._ ”

* * *

The tunnels that they had been briefed on (during the “standard security briefing” after they’d arrived, and Shmi’s heart ached as she recalled how it had been a _footnote_ in their briefing; perhaps, if they had been more interested in security, they would not have _needed_ to use them) to slip into the palace were already occupied. Shmi pushed Satine down, and then crouched in front of her, standing her ground as she took aim; beside her, Captain Panaka was doing the same, and then Shmi heard Anakin ignite his ‘saber, moving to stand between Shmi and Panaka, Padme behind them.

A group of orderly soldiers in black armor similar to what the Sith wore blocked the tunnel and began shooting immediately. Shmi fired back, and felt Satine just behind her, leaning over her shoulder to fire back, and then duck behind Shmi and the cover her _beskar’gam_ provided. Beside her, Anakin’s ‘saber was a wall of white, deflecting their blaster bolts back at them.

They managed to drop the first line of them with minimal injures, although Shmi heard Captain Panaka swear and, glancing over, saw that he had been hit in the leg. But he was still standing, and that was good enough, for the moment. Shmi returned her attention to the fighting. The black-armored assailants did not bother to move their fallen comrades, or check to see if any of them still lived--and two did, Shmi knew, having seen them hit by Satine’s stun bolts. But they paid them no attention, simply stepping over their bodies to advance on them.

“Throw me,” Shmi ordered Anakin. He hesitated, blinking at her, and she gestured with her vibroblade to the armored men. “With the Force. Toss me.”

Anakin frowned at her, but nodded. He took one hand from his ‘saber, and Shmi took the opportunity to push Satine behind him, next to Padme, who had also gotten a blaster pistol from somewhere--or already had one on her person, Shmi suspected. And then she felt _something_ wrapping around her, and she was _thrown_ into their lines. But she had known it was coming and prepared for it, holding her vibroblade parallel with the floor, and allowed the force of it to drive the blade in her hand into the separation between the chest plate and the lower plate of the man she’d knocked into. She spun, pulling her blade out with her as she pressed her blaster muzzle into another’s stomach and fired. They both went down, and Shmi ducked a shot from another beside her. Still crouched, she took the butt of her pistol and _slammed_ it into the man’s knee, where another gap in their armor sat. He buckled, and Shmi _sliced_ upward with her vibroblade, and he fell, clutching at his throat. Shmi hissed as she felt someone’s shot catch her between the chestplate and the upper edge of her armor on her left arm, and another in the backplate of her _beskar’gam_ . She rolled her shoulder and nodded to herself--it was superficial, and would heal; she may have bruised a rib, with the impact to the _beskar,_ but her breathing was fine, and that was good enough.

There were four of them left, and Shmi glanced back as she sensed Captain Panaka coming forward, firing even as he came up to punch one of them in the gut, favoring his left leg. She nodded to herself as she saw that Satine and Padme were being well protected by Anakin and a few more of the Royal Guard who had stepped forward.

Shmi returned her attention to their attackers, turning to slam her elbow into his gut, and then stabbing backwards with her blade. She did not wait to watch this one fall before turning on the next. He was too far away for her vibroblade, even as she pulled it out of the man she had just felled, and so Shmi brought up her pistol and fired, left-handed. The blast caught him in the throat, and Shmi grinned underneath her _buy’ce,_ all teeth and aggression. Jango would have been proud of that shot.

Finally, there was relative quiet in the tunnel, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the groans and gasps of the injured on the floor. Shmi heard a few similar groans from behind her and turned back, eyeing them. Captain Panaka was holding his thigh, and several of the Naboo were on the ground, but sitting upright. Satine, Padme, and Anakin were all fine, and she nodded at them before turning back to look at the assailants on the floor.

There were no distinctive markings on their armor, just the flat, plain black. And the armor itself was in no particular style that she recognized--not Mandalorian, certainly. Not _Kyr’tsad,_ then. Shmi had wondered, for a moment, if it could have been them.

Kneeling down, she reached for the helmet of the one she had sliced open, and his hands came up to try to stop her, but she batted them away easily, his weakness already setting in. She glanced at the wound--if he received treatment soon, he might recover, but he was losing blood quickly. Shmi pulled off the helmet and stared at him, a dark-skinned man, hairless, with similarly dark eyes that were starting to go unfocused.

“Who are you?”

“H-his Hands,” the man gasped out. Shmi frowned.

“Whose Hands?”

“Our M-Master. We s-serve no o-other.”

“And what is your Master’s name?” Shmi asked. The man tried to shake his head, but he had no energy, and it simply lolled to the side. “Please do not make this difficult.”

“We w-will ne-never--”

Shmi grimaced and took a breath. She _wanted_ to turn around, to tell Anakin not to watch, but she suspected that if she looked at him, she may not have been able to do what needed to be done. She stood slowly, and then lifted one of her feet, putting it back down on top of the wound and _pressing._

The man cried out, though the noise was strangled.

“A _name,_ please,” Shmi demanded coolly. He gritted his teeth, and Shmi sighed. She did not particularly _want_ to do this, but it must be done. She hit the control for the attached knife in the toe of her boot, allowing it to extend and further open the wound, and then she ground her foot down, twisting slightly.

The man jerked at the pain and howled, but the cry was not wordless. “ _Plagueis!_ O-our L-Lord is P-Plagueis the W-Wise.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Shmi said, replacing her foot on the ground, and pulled her blaster pistol again. She adjusted the setting and then shot him, turning around to do the same to the others still groaning and gasping. She calmly retracted the boot-knife.

“ _Lady Skywalker!_ ” Shmi turned at Satine’s outraged shout and shrugged.

“I only stunned them,” she explained. “It will keep them from going into shock from the pain, since their medical treatment is _not_ our current priority. Now come. We must get you all to the safety of the Throne Room.”

Shmi reset the power on her pistol and began to make her way down the rest of the tunnel. After a moment of hesitation, she heard the others begin to follow.

 _Plagueis._ They had a name, now, and the man had called him a Lord. Shmi knew what that meant, when connected to the appearance of the four Sith they had left behind with the _Jetiise._

They had just found evidence of Obi-Wan’s missing Sith Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a few questions I wanted to clarify that I saw in the comments:
> 
> When I said that the Council learned too late about the clones in either timeline, I was referring to both this one and canon. In this timeline, the creation of the clones happened while Qui-Gon was still recovering after Naboo, and the Jedi who were sent back were still figuring out a game plan, and they had no idea it had actually gone through. Sifo-Dyas was dead, he’d killed himself, and so they thought he died before the clones had been ordered (which he was, but a little thing like that wasn’t going to stop the Sith, of course). It’s like Obi-Wan told Jango: “I wasn’t certain it had actually happened, not until I saw Boba.” All that we really know from canon is that the creation of the clones happened sometime around the Naboo Invasion, and I think it makes the most sense to have been Sidious's back-up plan if the Invasion was thwarted. But we'll get to that later in the story!
> 
> And yes, Trilla Suduri is from the Fallen Order game! :)
> 
> Edit: For this story, the Legends backstory for Darth Plagueis is the one I'm using. In that version of canon, he wasn't killed until the night before Palpatine became Chancellor. I promise I will answer more of the questions about him later in the story!
> 
> As for Shmi torturing that guy... They will actually have a conversation about that on Kamino, in the next chapter or chapter 21.


	20. Qui-Gon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. GUYS.
> 
> My draft of this story is now longer than the first two Harry Potter books combined. The entire current rough draft is LONGER than the Order of the Phoenix, which is 257,045 words. That's just... bananas. THANK YOU so much to everyone for sticking with this story. It's already a monster, and it's only going to get longer and more complicated from here.
> 
> A little note about my writing experience and style: traditionally, I am a short story/novella writer (though I've also done a few comics with an artist friend). When I say "short story," I usually mean anywhere from 5,000-15,000 words. That is why I write such long chapters, for the most part, because I'm treating each one like its own short story, just connected to the greater whole.
> 
> I definitely threw myself off the deep end with this one, both in terms of writing something this LONG, and as a first fanfiction. I'm a long-time fanfiction reader and I've been in many fandoms. I've even spawned a few plot bunnies for other people, but I've never played with someone else's universe like this.
> 
> This has been a wild ride, and just... thanks again, to everyone who's stuck with this while I figure out what the heck I'm doing here! We've still got a long way to go though, never fear. It's not ending soon. ;)
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ni ceta: I'm sorry (lit. I kneel)  
> vod'e: siblings (here used to mean brothers, but it's gender neutral)  
> Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it: Truth, Honor, Vision (said to seal a pact)  
> Vor entye, ori'vod: Thank you, big brother  
> Buir: Parent (here used to mean mother, but it's gender neutral)  
> Su'cuy, vod'ad: Hello, nephew  
> Su'cuy, ade!: Hello, children!  
> Su'cuy, ba'vodu!: Hello, aunt!  
> 'Lek, buir.: Yes, mom.  
> Shig: A Mandalorian drink with a mild stimulant effect  
> Kaminiise: Kaminoans  
> Vor'e: Thanks

It was moments like this that made Qui-Gon regret his intense skepticism towards Obi-Wan’s “bad feelings” during his apprenticeship. Just a few hours before, Obi-Wan had confided in him that he had a  _ dreadful  _ feeling--not simply “bad” as they usually were, which had been telling in itself--and now, here they were.

Facing not just one, but  _ four Sith. _

Qui-Gon gripped his ‘saber, not taking his eyes away from them even as he reached for the Force to check on the others. Shmi was leading Satine to the tunnels that would lead them directly back to the palace, and the Royal Guard had most of the handmaidens, the few civilian Gungans, and the ambassadors in their sights, although the two adopted Mandalorian women from Tatooine were keeping watch over the man and his child. Anakin was in front of Padme, and Captain Panaka just behind her.

Satisfied that they would all work themselves out and get to safety, one way or another, Qui-Gon turned his full attention to the Sith before him, and his fellow Jedi beside him, all of them igniting their ‘sabers. Mace, Yan, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon were ready to stand their ground--one Sith for each of them, then. Good--at least that put them on level ground.

The Zabrak darted forward first, performing an impressive flip over Mace to reach Obi-Wan, the two immediately engaging, locking ‘sabers. One of the black-clad figures went for Mace, and then Qui-Gon could pay attention to nothing but the battle as another descended upon him.

They used a single blade, not a lightstaff, and Qui-Gon was thankful for that, remembering the last time he had tested himself against a lightstaff. And whoever this person was, under the mask and heavy armor, they were well trained. Not quite as well trained as Maul had been, but enough so to make Qui-Gon wonder how long they had been training.

He allowed the Sith to press forward, employing the Makashi parries and Soresu deflections he had incorporated into his form until he had a sense of theirs. It seemed to be some sort of Shien, although not quite like anything taught at the Temple. Qui-Gon grimaced--already he could sense that his energy would wane long before his opponent’s. He was certainly not Obi-Wan, and his strength had never been in the Perseverance Form, even before his injury the last time they had been on Naboo.

Quickly, he calculated his strike, leaning into the next slash instead of batting it away; the Sith was somewhat smaller than he was, and unprepared for the force of it, and stumbled back slightly. It was all Qui-Gon needed: the next moment, he slashed out, but the Sith was already twirling away, and the blow glanced off of their shoulder. At least he had hit their dominant blade arm.

The Sith hissed, the sound crackling slightly through the modulated black helmet, and Qui-Gon stepped back into a ready stance. Beside him, he vaguely registered Mace grunt as the Sith he was duelling kicked him in the ribs.

The Sith crashed their blade with Qui-Gon’s again, and seemed to take a page out of their comrade’s book, trying to kick him in the knee. But Qui-Gon was ready, and he shifted just enough to move out of the way before employing the  _ strike-shift grip-strike _ Makashi pattern he had drilled in endlessly as a Padawan, and again more recently in Yan’s renewed lessons. The Sith cried out as his ‘saber made contact with their outer thigh and upper arm, not far from the first burn he had given them. The Sith stepped back, and then took their left hand off of their ‘saber, reaching out, and--

And Qui-Gon couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ He reached desperately for the Force, but it was the  _ Force itself _ coiled around his neck, squeezing and  _ squeezing--  _ Black spots began to appear in his vision, and he was vaguely aware of his ‘saber falling from his limp hand to clatter to the ground.

And then he could  _ breathe _ again, sucking in air greedily. He half-registered the Sith he had been fighting flying backwards, crashing to the stone ground, but Qui-Gon was too busy sinking to his knees, gasping for breath, to take the opening. He managed to stand and call his ‘saber back to him, bringing it up to block the incoming strike  _ just _ in time, and resumed the rhythm of battle.

The Sith seemed even more enraged, the sharp, stinging cold of the Dark Side rolling off of them in powerful waves. It was all Qui-Gon could do to absorb the feeling and release it back into the Force as he tried to draw the Light to him. And the increased anger seemed to enhance the Sith’s power--of  _ course  _ it did, Qui-Gon chided himself, they were drawing on the Dark Side--

Qui-Gon hissed as the Sith landed a solid hit to his own shoulder--his left, thankfully. He rolled it quickly, experimentally, even as he used his right hand alone to bring his ‘saber up to block the next strike. He could still fight with this, for a while. He wasn’t out of the game yet. He brought both hands back onto his ‘saber and took a deep breath.

He focused on the burning pain in his shoulder, channeling it, and  _ struck,  _ hard and fast, employing the few movements of the  _ vapaad _ Mace had deigned to teach him. The Sith stumbled, and Qui-Gon saw his opportunity--he  _ slashed _ , and the Sith fell to the ground.

Qui-Gon watched, a sickly feeling overtaking his stomach as the Sith’s torso and lower half  _ separated.  _ He hadn’t even thought about it, acting on pure instinct and channeling the Force, but  _ sai tok _ was forbidden--

He forced himself to  _ breathe  _ and regroup. Reaching out with the Force, he confirmed that the Sith was dead and turned to evaluate the rest of the fighting.

Mace had dispatched his opponent already, although he was sporting a concerning burn just beside his left eye, and was currently helping Yan. Qui-Gon glanced around for Obi-Wan, finding him farther up the steps, still duelling the Zabrak, who was raining down fury with his lightstaff. Grimacing, Qui-Gon began making his way towards them.

As he came closer, he could hear the Zabrak, spewing vitriol and half-mad  _ hate.  _ “He was my  _ brother!  _ You will all  _ burn,  _ you will fall to us! Whether we slaughter you one at a time, or all at once, you  _ will fall to the Sith-- _ ”

Falling. Qui-Gon thought that was a rather inspired notiong, and he  _ kicked _ out at the back of the Zabrak’s knee, conveniently hidden behind the man who might have sensed him coming had he not been so rabidly focused on Obi-Wan. As the Zabrak stumbled forward, Obi-Wan took the opening to  _ slash,  _ and the Zabrak cried out as both of his hands were severed in one fell swoop; Qui-Gon managed to catch the falling lightstaff as it deactivated.

“ _ Yield. _ ” Qui-Gon shivered at the tone of Obi-Wan’s voice--he had never heard it so  _ cold,  _ so  _ dangerous.  _ He sounded like the predator he looked like in his full armor, in that moment.

The Zabrak growled and then shouted wordlessly, waving the stumps of his arms, and then Qui-Gon was flung to the side, landing hard and rolling, seeing stars. He groaned and started to lift himself up, but he had landed on his injured shoulder, and  _ Force,  _ that  _ hurt _ \--

He swore as he realized that he had landed far too close to the still-smoldering fire, and the edge of his tunics had caught. He rolled quickly away, pushing himself up to a seated position with his good arm, and looked over to Obi-Wan--

Who was staring at the now-headless Zabrak splayed grotesquely on the steps. He had killed him precisely as he had killed Maul, the man this Zabrak claimed as his brother. Qui-Gon smiled tightly but turned his attention to the remaining Sith, and he frowned.

Yan was standing between the Sith and Mace, his hands outstretched in either direction.

“ _ Stop this! _ ” he ordered.

“Step aside,” Mace growled. Yan lifted his chin and turned away from him, towards the Sith.

“You are not yet so far gone that we cannot help you,” Yan said to the Sith. Qui-Gon frowned--what was he  _ doing?  _ “Come back to the Temple with us.”  _ Back _ to the Temple?

“ _ Never, _ ” the Sith hissed, a girl, judging from her voice. She took a step forward, but Yan must have Force-pushed her back, because she slid a few feet before finding her balance again and stopping.

“ _ Padawan _ \--” Yan’s voice broke as the Sith  _ screeched _ and leapt forward, attacking him with such  _ hate _ that Qui-Gon could  _ feel it  _ overwhelming his shields, bile rising in his throat--

And then realization hit him: this was  _ Komari Vosa. _ This was his  _ Sister Padawan,  _ twisted into a  _ Sith,  _ and she was trying to kill their Master--

Qui-Gon tried to struggle to his feet, but the abuse his body had taken in the last round made itself known, his breathing somewhat strained, his throat on fire, and his shoulder throbbing. He would be of no use to them, and he grimaced.

Mace was doing his best to kill her, but Yan remained in the way, his ‘saber ever-present, but defensive only; he was deflecting Mace’s blows just as much as Komari’s. Qui-Gon growled--he had tried to believe that those who Fell could return to them, once. He had held onto that hope right up until Xanatos threw himself into a pit of acid, preferring to die rather than face the consequences of his actions, to make reparations and return to the Light. Yan’s… situation--that was a different problem entirely. His Fall, here and now, had not  _ happened _ .

Whoever Komari  _ had been,  _ whatever she had been to Yan, Qui-Gon  _ knew _ with sickening certainty that she had to die.

Obi-Wan joined the fray, trying to maneuver Yan out of the way, but he would not allow it.

_ Take care of him.  _ Qui-Gon startled at Obi-Wan’s voice across their bond, wondering what he meant--

And then Yan went flying, landing with a  _ thud _ that made Qui-Gon wince only a few feet from him. Qui-Gon did as Obi-Wan asked, the only thing he  _ could  _ do, and managed to shuffle his way to his Master. Yan was knocked out cold, and there was a bit of blood flowing from the back of his head. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and breathed shakily, trying to reach for the Force, wrapping it around himself and Yan--

He exhaled slowly as he found nothing but reassurance, the half-whispers and spots of  _ blue-and-shimmering green _ of  **_all will be well_ ** . Yan would have a particularly nasty headache, a moderate concussion, and several burns that would need bacta, but he would be alright.

Qui-Gon gently rested Yan’s head on his thigh and turned his attention back to the fighting.

Komari fought with such  _ passion,  _ and Mace’s vapaad seemed only to be feeding her energies. Qui-Gon grimaced, but Mace must have realized the same, because he fell back slightly, allowing Obi-Wan to take the lead.

Obi-Wan whirled in his familiar Soresu, his movements quick, but economical, his defense simple, but ever-present. Mace supplemented his efforts with distracting strikes at her, though she had turned most of her focus to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan took one hand off his ‘saber to send some sort of unfamiliar hand signal to Mace, who nodded and flipped over Komari. She pivoted slightly to be able to see both of them; Obi-Wan took the opportunity that created, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her back towards him, blocking her ‘saber as she slashed at him.

As she spun towards him, Mace pressed his ‘saber forward, spearing her clean through. Komari gasped, loud and crackling through the helmet, and then she was falling limply. Obi-Wan caught her, lowering her carefully to the ground. Slowly, he pulled off her helmet, and then his own. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“You d-don’t know what he’s going to do,” Komari wheezed, and Qui-Gon did not know if the  _ dark-red-and-brown-edged-with-amber _ passing through his vision was from the fire still burning just behind him and the embers floating in the air around them, or that damnable synesthesia rearing its head again. “You h-have to k-kill him. While you c-can.”

“He is  _ not _ that man,” Obi-Wan said, and then he hesitated. He looked up at Mace. “Hold her down.”

Mace crouched down, gripping her arms to pin her, and then Obi-Wan put his hands near the blackened, charred hole in her chest, tilting his head back and closing his eyes--

Komari jerked, letting out a strangled cry, and then went perfectly still, her eyes rolling up into her head before her eyelids fluttered shut. Obi-Wan remained that way for a long moment, and then he fell back to sit on the ground,  _ beskar _ clinking on the stone, his shoulders slumped.

“You healed her.” Mace’s voice was flat, and Obi-Wan looked up at him and shrugged jerkily.

“Yan wanted so badly for her to live,” Obi-Wan said, not-quite-slurring his words from sudden exhaustion; Qui-Gon grimaced sympathetically. He knew well enough how much energy and focus Force Healing took. “And he was right--she’s not too far gone to save. The others…” He glanced back at the fallen Sith, and then his eyes found Qui-Gon’s. He smiled tightly, though the expression faded quickly. “They didn’t give us a choice.”

“Obi-Wan--”

“Later. We can argue about this later,” Obi-Wan declared. “For now, I rather think I’m going to pass out.”

With that, he slumped to the side, Mace reaching out to catch him before his head hit the stone. Qui-Gon frowned, his own vision swimming, and he closed his eyes--just for a moment. Just until he’d gathered his strength.

* * *

Qui-Gon woke suddenly, feeling surprisingly fine, aside from a slight stinging from the wound in his shoulder, his energy restored, and he blinked his eyes open as he sat up. That was… strange. He had felt so  _ drained _ just moments ago--

He glanced at the window. Ah. It was already growing dark outside--he must have slept for longer than he’d thought, and he could smell a faint scent of bacta, that distinctive, overly-sweet, yet somehow sharp odor. Qui-Gon glanced around--he was clearly back in the palace, and though he had no memory of this place, it felt familiar. Their medical ward, then. As Qui-Gon carefully stood, feeling the slightest  _ twinge _ in his stomach from the old wound, he reached out with the Force. There were two familiar presences just outside the door, and he flicked it open with a wave of his hand. Padme stood there, looking harried and grieved, and Obi-Wan, with his helmet under one arm, frowning down at her. They both looked up at him as the door opened, and he ventured a smile.

“I’m pleased to see you both well.”

Padme smiled back, but it was tight, and did not reach her eyes. “And you as well, Master Qui-Gon.”

“What happened?” he asked. Obi-Wan sighed.

“They ran into another group of adversaries, in the tunnels,” Obi-Wan said flatly. His eyes were stormy grey, and Qui-Gon frowned. “They dispatched most of them immediately, and they found no survivors when they went back. Komari is unconscious, bound in Force-suppressing cuffs and heavily sedated. If the Queen agrees, Mace and Yan will take her back to the Temple immediately on Mace’s ship.”

Qui-Gon frowned--that was also the ship  _ he _ had come on, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to shield as heavily as he could on the way back to avoid the taint in the Force that Komari had leaked out. Obi-Wan shook his head. “You’re coming with us, when Anakin and I leave.”

He nodded slowly, and then raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “Should you really be up?”

Obi-Wan laughed roughly and tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. I had a  _ minor  _ case of Force exhaustion, from the healing. When we were brought here, Anakin found me, and… panicked a bit. He said he could  _ feel  _ how low my reserves were, and, in his words, ‘decided there was no reason for me to be so exhausted when he had more than enough of the Force to share, and a bond he could share it through.’” He shook his head, looking exasperated.

Qui-Gon laughed. “He’s a sweet boy.”

Obi-Wan sighed, though his smile turned a bit more genuine, almost teasing. “When he decides to be.”

He snorted and turned to Padme. “Did I interrupt something important?”

Padme hesitated, and Qui-Gon knew from the dark look in her eyes, the sheer  _ bleakness _ of her expression, that whatever had happened, it pained her. His stomach churned, hoping that none of them had died--

“The Order will have to leave Naboo, as soon as you are all in good enough condition to do so,” Padme said, voice firm, but  _ regret _ shining both in her eyes and in the Force. “Too many heard what was said to Obi-Wan at the beginning of the fight, and… the view of my people is that the Jedi are the ones who brought violence to us again.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been struck. He’d  _ known _ that the wider galaxy did not understand the issue of the Sith, and that they did not even understand the Jedi who sought to protect them, but  _ this… _

He opened his eyes and glanced at Obi-Wan, whose eyes were flinty, his back ramrod straight, not a trace of emotion on his face. Qui-Gon frowned and gently reached for their bond, but his shields were up high.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon murmured. “We will leave immediately.”

“I’m so sorry,” Padme whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “This is not… This isn’t  _ right. _ ”

“It isn’t,” Qui-Gon sighed, and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “But there is nothing you can do about that now. Support your people; time will show the truth, when they are ready to see it. But they need to feel safe and secure again. If our departure helps them, then we shall go.”

Padme gave him a watery smile at his understanding, and she nodded. She took a deep breath, and Qui-Gon removed his hand as she resettled the mantle of the Queen over herself.

“We will allow the assailant identified as Komari Vosa to go with you, and for you to take the bodies of the Sith. They are under the Order’s purview, after all,” Padme said. Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And, should a Kiffar and their Twi’lek companion happen to approach me, Lord Bibble, or Captain Panaka, they would be heard,” Padme said, and Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a smile. Qui-Gon grinned as well, spirits buoyed by the fact that she was allowing Knight Vos to stay and continue his undercover work. He may not have gotten along well with this particular friend of Obi-Wan’s, but he knew how skilled the man was. If anyone could get to the bottom of this attack, he could.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmured. Padme smiled and nodded sharply, though the grin faded quickly.

“I must go. But I will do my best to see you off.”

“Your Majesty, before we leave, if I might make one request?” Obi-Wan asked. She nodded slowly.

“I will grant it, if I can.”

“I’d like to speak to Jinto Suduri.”

Padme’s expression fell, and she slowly shook her head. “He’s… gone.”

“What?” Qui-Gon blurted out, his brow furrowing. Padme looked at him and nodded slowly.

“His fighter was used to launch the rocket,” Padme murmured. “His body was found in the hangar-- _ he _ was supposed to be flying his ship for the honor guard, but…”

“Force,” Qui-Gon murmured, thinking of Trilla. “His poor child.”

“And wife,” Padme sighed, shaking her head. “The only comfort I can find in all of it is that his death was only one of four for the Naboo due to this whole… debacle. And three Gungans.”

“ _ Ni ceta, _ ” Obi-Wan murmured. Padme nodded again; Qui-Gon wasn’t certain she knew enough Mando’a to realize what he’d said, but she must have gotten at least the idea. “May I speak to his wife?”

Padme frowned. “I will invite her here, but what, pray tell, would you wish to speak to her about?”

“Their daughter, Trilla,” Obi-Wan said. He looked grim. “If she doesn’t come to the Order  _ now…  _ I fear what would happen to her. The Sith have now made  _ two _ appearances on Naboo, Your Majesty. I do not believe a child so strong in the Force would go unnoticed by them when they have already taken notice of this planet. I would not wish to see her  _ used _ by them.”

Padme looked stricken, but she nodded slowly. “Sir Suduri always said that Lady Suduri was supportive of having Trilla sent to the Order, and he was the one with reservations. Hopefully she will see your point of view.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head in silent thanks and agreement, and Padme forced a smile for them. It was sad, but Qui-Gon appreciated the gesture.

“We may not be considered friends by the rest of your people, at present,” Qui-Gon said slowly, “but I hope that you will always remember us.”

Padme blinked rapidly, likely trying to force back tears, and Qui-Gon was reminded of how  _ young _ she truly was. Too young to have these weights placed upon her. His heart ached.

“Thank you, Master Qui-Gon. I don’t believe I could ever forget you.”

* * *

Finding Anakin and the rest of their group was not difficult. Anakin was already running the necessary preflight checks on the  _ Prudii,  _ and Mace had just gotten Komari settled onto the ship. Yan, apparently, refused to leave her side. The ache in Qui-Gon’s chest grew stronger.

Shmi was standing before her own ship, her arms folded over her chest, glaring furiously at Satine, who was glaring just as harshly back.

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “I’ll deal with those two. Would you see when we’ll be ready to leave?” Qui-Gon pursed his lips, but nodded. He stopped on the ramp of the  _ Prudii _ and called to Anakin, watching as Obi-Wan approached the two.

“What seems to be the problem this time?” Obi-Wan sighed. He sounded… tired. Resigned. Qui-Gon did not like it. Distantly, he was aware of Anakin approaching, pausing just behind him at the top of the ramp, also watching them.

“She wishes to stay.” Shmi gestured to Satine, who raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I would like to stay,” Satine said. “I am always interested in finding out who might want to kill me.”

“They weren’t trying to kill you,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Both women looked at him with skeptical expressions, and he shook his head. “If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. He let you live for a reason, but I’m not interested in tempting fate, Satine. You need to leave.”

She bristled and turned more fully towards him. “I may be a pacifist, but I will not simply walk away and do  _ nothing _ when we have all been attacked. There is more than one way to fight--”

“ _ Satine, _ ” Obi-Wan cut her off, his voice hard. “You  _ cannot stay here. _ ”

She stared at him for a long moment, and then she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “And what do you propose to do?  _ Force me  _ to go?”

“If that is what it takes,” Obi-Wan said evenly--a promise, not a threat. Satine blinked, and then her brow furrowed, color rising in her cheeks, her lips pressed into a thin line, and Qui-Gon’s heart sank.  _ Oh no.  _ He was well-acquainted with how  _ spectacularly  _ those two could fight--they never seemed to  _ stop _ arguing, that much was true, but when they  _ meant it-- _

But Obi-Wan surprised them all by reaching out to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, pausing to adjust one of the lilies in her hair, and then he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Qui-Gon saw him murmur something in her ear, and Satine froze before sighing as he drew back, her shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly.

“Very well,” she said. “But I will remain in contact with the Queen.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and went to back away, but Satine grabbed the top edge of his chestplate and dragged him forward, crashing their mouths together.

“ _ Oh. _ ” Qui-Gon huffed a laugh at Anakin’s strangled noise, and then he finally turned to him, giving the pair a modicum of privacy.

“How are the preflight checks coming?”

Anakin blinked, and then shrugged. “Fine. She’s good to go when we are.” He glanced back and Qui-Gon followed his gaze; Obi-Wan was coming towards them, his lips slightly red and his hair a bit mussed, but his eyes were still flinty, and quelled any teasing urge Qui-Gon might have felt.

“We’ll leave as soon as we speak to Lady Suduri,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon nodded, and Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin, the expression tired, but genuine, a bit of warmth finding its way back into his eyes. “I heard you handled yourself well, protecting the Queen. Good work, Padawan.”

“ _ Vor’e, _ ” Anakin murmured, looking down at the ground. “I was… afraid.”

“So were we,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin’s head shot up and he stared at Obi-Wan, whose smile had turned rather lopsided and pained. “And it was your first true  _ battle-- _ on the ground, anyway. I can understand why you were frightened. But you did what needed to be done regardless and did not allow your fear to impact your decisions. The Queen is safe, and there were minimal casualties among the Naboo and the Gungans. You did well, Anakin.”

He nodded slowly, and Qui-Gon could see him trying to accept that information. Obi-Wan reached up to pat Anakin’s shoulder gently as he murmured, “Go finish preparing the ship, please.”

Anakin nodded, clearly grateful for the excuse to retreat again, and Obi-Wan collapsed onto the ramp beside Qui-Gon.

“What a fucking mess,” he muttered, and Qui-Gon huffed a laugh, leaning over to rest his shoulder gently against Obi-Wan’s.

“Yes. It is.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Did this happen in that vision?”

“No.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “A great many things are different, now. Some things have changed for the better. But certainly not all.”

Qui-Gon grimaced and lowered his shields, radiating quiet sympathy. Obi-Wan leaned into him a bit more, and then stiffened and stood up up. Qui-Gon followed his gaze, smiling as he saw Padme approaching, still in the simpler handmaidens’ garb, with Captain Panaka and that astromech, R2-D2, in tow. His smile faded as she got close enough for him to see the cold devastation on her face.

“Obi-Wan,” Padme breathed, stopping just in front of the ramp. “We tried to reach out to Lady Suduri, to inform her of… about her husband, and your request, but got no answer. I sent someone to check on her, and… She was found dead in their home.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes closed, his breathing shuddering for a moment. Without opening them, he asked, “Trilla…?”

“She’s gone,” Padme murmured, lowering her eyes to the ground and shaking her head. Her voice was thick with emotion, and Qui-Gon felt an answering lump in his throat. “There was no evidence that she’d been harmed. Trilla Suduri is simply… missing.”

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw. They  _ knew,  _ in theory, who had taken her. But knowing that it had been the Sith meant  _ nothing _ if they did not know  _ who that was. _

Obi-Wan nodded slowly and opened his eyes. “Thank you for coming to tell us yourself, Padme. I am sorry--I know they were your friends.”

Padme looked up, smiling tightly, her eyes wet with tears. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I… This is not how I wanted this to happen. This is not how I wanted  _ any  _ of this to happen.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Padme,” Obi-Wan assured her. “None of it was.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. All the same, she held out her hand to Obi-Wan, and he clasped it, wrist-to-elbow. She tugged his arm, pulling him closer for a brief hug, before releasing him and turning to Qui-Gon. He rose slowly, smiling gently at her and wondering if he would be able to speak clearly, still too choked up by sorrow and worry to be confident in his voice.

But Padme said nothing, and merely stepped forward to hug him as well. He gently embraced her, and then let go. Turning around, he found that he still could not speak, and so he made a vague gesture back at them towards the inside of the ship and made his way to the cockpit where Anakin was just starting up the engines for the final checks. Anakin took one look at him and nodded, jumping up out of the copilot’s seat.

“Mind finishing up for me, Master?” Anakin asked, and Qui-Gon smiled. It was a kind gesture, an excuse to leave him to himself for a few moments. He appreciated it, and sent a tendril of that feeling to him. Anakin smiled tightly and nodded, heading down the ramp to say his goodbyes to Padme.

Qui-Gon sat down in the pilot’s chair, running the checks on autopilot. When he got green lights across the board, Qui-Gon buried his face in his shaking hands.

This is not how  _ any _ of them had wanted this to happen.

* * *

They said very little to each other the first few hours after taking off from Naboo. Obi-Wan had programmed the jump coordinates himself, and Qui-Gon had frowned at the chart. There was a star cluster, but…  _ nothing _ on the map at the coordinates Obi-Wan had set. But of all the mysteries Obi-Wan had presented to him, that was far from the most interesting, and so he was content to wait to learn of their destination. He had also wanted to ask about the droid, R2-D2, that had followed them onto the ship, but the astromech had followed Obi-Wan to his bunk immediately after Obi-Wan set the coordinates, and neither emerged for several hours.

Obi-Wan retreated to his bunk to clean his armor and meditate, he had said, and while Qui-Gon knew he should seek his own meditation, he simply… couldn’t. Not now--he had far too much  _ feeling _ to settle at the moment. Better to wait and process some of it naturally, during the journey, than to rush the process and frustrate himself.

Instead, he made his way to the cargo hold, confident that the autopilot would take them where they needed to go after checking to ensure that there were no large gravity wells to affect the course, and pulled out his ‘saber, slowly beginning to move through katas he knew as well as he knew himself. He started first with Shii Cho, and after the first kata, Anakin wandered in to join him, giving him a lopsided smile and falling into place beside him, the two of them moving in unison.

They had just gotten through the third kata of Makashi when Obi-Wan reappeared. He had put his armor back on, paint now gleaming as brilliantly as it had before, aside from one large, sweeping gouge in the lower side of the chestplate. Mandalorians, Qui-Gon knew, preferred to leave large scars in their armor, if they didn’t threaten the integrity of the piece. It showed that they had seen--and survived--battle. He waved a hand at Anakin when the boy paused, and Anakin nodded, continuing fluidly in the kata. Obi-Wan settled down on a crate, taking something out of one of his belt pockets and holding it tightly in his left hand as he watched them.

Obi-Wan let them get through half of the Soresu katas before he stood and nodded at them, looking weary. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly and set to stretching, Anakin following him. True to his word, a few minutes later, Obi-Wan reappeared with two bottles in his hands and damp towels thrown over one arm. He held his arm out, and they each took a towel to wipe the sweat from their brows and the backs of their necks, and then they settled on the ground. Obi-Wan handed Qui-Gon one bottle, keeping the other for himself.

“Apologies, Padawan. You’re a bit young for this, yet.”

“S’okay,” Anakin murmured. “Are we talking about the vision now?”

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon stiffened. “I should go, then--”

“No. The Committee’s business is all but completed--all that is left is to write the summary report for the Councils. And… circumstances have changed.” Qui-Gon nodded slowly and uncapped the brandy. Obi-Wan had not brought glasses; so it was to be like  _ that,  _ then. He drank deeply straight from the bottle and nodded at Obi-Wan, who took a large swig from his own.

“I’ll start at the beginning,” he said, sounding so…  _ hollow.  _ Qui-Gon had never heard that from him before--Obi-Wan was his  _ spark,  _ he brought life to everyone else when they gave up. He did not lose his--but, he realized, he had. At some point, perhaps in some other-when, he had. Qui-Gon’s chest ached; he drank again. “You were killed on Naboo. I sliced Maul in half, but his body fell down the reactor shaft. The Council had no proof that he was a Sith, but I was Knighted for it anyway.” He looked at Anakin, smiling softly. “I took you as a Padawan the next day.”

Anakin sucked in a breath, and then nodded slowly. Qui-Gon’s stomach roiled--he could almost see it himself. It could have happened, and so  _ easily _ , had Obi-Wan’s quick action not saved him, had he not managed to convince the Council to place Anakin in the creche...

“Not that I did not enjoy the experience of being your Master last time, but I  _ am _ glad that we both had a few years of adjustment under our belts before we paired off this time,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin smiled wryly.

“Yeah. There was  _ so much _ about the Order I didn’t know until I went into the creche,” Anakin sighed. “And I wouldn’t have made friends with Sian, I don’t think, if we hadn’t been in the same Clan.”

Obi-Wan smiled fleetingly and nodded, taking another drink before continuing. “There were other differences as well--Senator Palpatine became Chancellor, and his election gave the Naboo enough hope that they remained within the Republic. Because the Council had refused to acknowledge the resurgence of the Sith, Yan… left the Order.”

And that thought  _ hurt,  _ but Qui-Gon was not  _ surprised.  _ He’d known that there must have been  _ something _ leading to his Fall in that other-when, but… what would compel his Master to join the faction that had killed Qui-Gon? The man’s own  _ Padawan? _

“Without the Zabrak’s body and lightstaff as proof, the Council refused to acknowledge that the Sith had returned. For a decade, nothing happened. Well, not  _ nothing,  _ but… it was as normal as a Jedi’s life is likely to get.” Anakin snorted, and even Qui-Gon’s lips quirked at that. “And then… Kamino. Padme was Senator Amidala, by that point, and someone had hired bounty hunters to assassinate her. They wanted to get her out of the way for an important vote: the Military Creation Act. The Republic  _ then,  _ just as it is now, was beginning to fracture. Systems were leaving at incredible speeds, by that point, and they were a growing military and economic threat. The Senate proposed the creation of an army, which Padme opposed rather vehemently, and quite publicly.

“We were sent to protect her,” Obi-Wan said, looking to Anakin again, his lips quirking in a small smile. “But you, my Padawan, decided to take a bit of initiative and promised that we would find those who put out the bounty. To cut a very long and convoluted story short, we caught a bounty hunter in the attempt, and it led us to a planet called Kamino. A planet that, in both times, has been erased from the Archives.”

“Erased?” Qui-Gon repeated, frowning. “Only a Master would have that ability, and depending on the file, only a  _ Council Master _ , at that.”

“Yes. It was Sifo-Dyas, in both timelines,” Obi-Wan sighed. “He had not yet gone through with the creation of the clone army this time, but that hardly mattered. The Sith had enough to force it to happen in any case.” He shook his head. “In both iterations, Sifo-Dyas had visions of a war that would rip apart the galaxy. He believed that the Order and the Republic were in danger, and ordered an army of clones for the Republic, under the auspices of the Jedi Order.”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, his mouth opening, and then closing. A  _ Jedi Master-- _ one Qui-Gon had  _ looked up to _ in his youth--had ordered  _ clones of a sentient being _ to become soldiers? Bred specifically for warfare, in a desperate bid to protect the Order and the Republic?

It hit Qui-Gon, then: Sifo-Dyas  _ must  _ have been  _ desperate.  _ And he, with no connection to the Unifying Force to speak of, got a  _ bad feeling _ about all of this. He saw a swirl of  _ black  _ invade his vision, and he grimaced before taking another bracing sip of the brandy.

He thought he might understand why Obi-Wan indulged so often in liquor.

“I went to Kamino and found that it was the clones’ template who had been hired to assassinate Padme,” Obi-Wan continued, and Anakin made a small noise of discontent.

“The  _ Mand’alor? _ ”

Qui-Gon blinked. “ _ Jango Fett?  _ Jango Fett, who hates any Jedi who isn’t you?” Obi-Wan snorted at that. “He allowed himself to be cloned for an army meant for the  _ Jedi? _ ”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly and nodded. “Yes. Because he knew something we didn’t.” He shook his head and opened his eyes, looking down at the floor and taking a deep breath before swallowing more of what Qui-Gon thought was  _ tihaar. _ “But I digress. I chased Jango to Kamino, where I was welcomed with open arms by the natives who believed I was there to inspect the ‘units’ we ordered.” His eyes flashed as he spat those last few words, and Qui-Gon could not blame him. To think of  _ sentients _ as nothing more than  _ cannon-fodder  _ was… horrific. “I met with Jango, who deflected my questions, and then he escaped. I followed him to Geonosis, where I was promptly captured, having only enough time to send a message to you and Padme.” Obi-Wan nodded to Anakin and paused to take another drink. “All of these events were carefully orchestrated to lead us to that point. I was captured by a droid army, led by one of the Sith: Darth Tyranus. Yan.”

Qui-Gon drank, and Obi-Wan drank, and Anakin sighed, his brow furrowing, not-quite-sulking as he watched them take the edge off this conversation.

“We have to have one sober pilot, at least,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin huffed a laugh. Obi-Wan smiled fleetingly again and gently tugged Anakin’s Padawan braid. He smile faded again as he resumed speaking. “You and Padme transmitted my message to the Council before coming to Geonosis and getting captured yourselves.” He raised an eyebrow, and Anakin flushed. Qui-Gon laughed--even though the boy hadn’t done that, not yet, and hopefully never  _ would _ , that he still felt guilty told Qui-Gon it was what he would  _ still _ do, if the same situation arose. “We were to be put to death in an arena, but the Order had sent its own team of Jedi.” Obi-Wan grimaced and drank once, then twice, before putting the bottle down and shaking his head. “Over one hundred Jedi died that day. And you lost an arm.” He looked at Anakin, and then laughed. “But you once told me that you found tinkering on your prosthetic soothing enough that you were almost  _ grateful _ for the loss.”

Anakin snorted and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest to rub his upper arms. “I think I’ll try to keep ‘em both.”

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both chuckled, and Anakin smiled tightly. Obi-Wan took another breath and continued. “The remaining Jedi were going to be slaughtered, but Master Yoda arrived with the clones from Kamino. The battle itself was a debacle, but a victory, even if it was a costly one. But it also marked the beginning of what would become known as the Clone Wars. We didn’t… We didn’t have any  _ time.  _ There was no time to question where the army came from, there was no time to question whether the Order should involve itself further than it already had.

“In that time, the Trade Federation sided with the Separatists, and so it was clones against droids. The Jedi led the clone army, and the galaxy went to war. For three years, we fought beside the clone troopers. We sent  _ Padawans _ into the field, making them into Commanders as young as fifteen, and--so  _ many _ of us died, during the war. We had to abandon the age limits because we were forced into a position of needing any Force-sensitive sentient we could  _ find,  _ only to throw them into the field, and--” Obi-Wan cut himself off, shaking his head and closing his eyes again, taking another drink without opening them. He was silent for quite a while before letting out a long, slow breath and opened his eyes, looking at Anakin.

“You and I both took a Padawan. Life continued, as much as it could, with the war. And the clones…” Obi-Wan paused as if choosing the right words. “The clones took after Jango, in some ways. They adopted aspects of Mandalorian culture, and they called themselves the  _ vod’e.  _ They… loved us. We could all feel it. They were utterly  _ devoted _ to us.” He sounded so  _ broken,  _ and Qui-Gon took another drink. “After three years, the war was nearing an end. We were  _ winning.  _ We had almost  _ won,  _ and then--the Sith made his play. He’d managed to work his way up in the Senate, and in  _ a single day,  _ he… The Republic became the First Galactic Empire, with a  _ Sith _ at its helm. And the Order was… The  _ vod’e _ had… chips implanted in their brains-- _ that _ was what Jango knew that we did not. The Order was told that they were to make them more ‘docile.’ In reality, they were… instructions. Programming. When the Sith seized power, he… executed Order 66.” Obi-Wan paused, taking another drink, and then another, and then another, until Qui-Gon gently took the bottle from him, placing it on the floor, and moving until he could rest a hand on Obi-Wan’s knee. Obi-Wan gave him a watery smile. Anakin just looked tenser than ever.

“Order 66 was… ‘kill all Jedi.’” Qui-Gon’s heart skipped a beat, and he forgot how to breathe. But Obi-Wan, now that he had started, didn’t seem to be able to  _ stop.  _ “They were our  _ friends,  _ our  _ brothers,  _ and they… They didn’t have any  _ choice.  _ They were living, thinking,  _ feeling beings,  _ and they were made into nothing more than  _ flesh-droids. _ And they  _ killed us.  _ My own Commander ordered me fired on, and in that moment, I almost wished they hadn’t missed, because--I could  _ feel it.  _ All of those lights going out all over the galaxy,  _ hundreds of thousands of us _ killed all at once. And the Temple…” Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, shrinking in on himself.

Qui-Gon was certain he had never heard anything more perfectly horrifying in his life. His hands shook as he lifted the bottle to his lips again.

“Master Yoda and I met at the Temple, but… everyone else was gone. They were murdered. In  _ our home-- _ even the  _ younglings.  _ When we looked at the security footage, we saw… More of the  _ vod’e,  _ led by my own Padawan. He had Fallen, manipulated by the Sith--he’d  _ given in _ to them, and… Yoda sent me after him. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him. Oh, I  _ won,  _ but… he lived. And he went on to rule the galaxy beside his Sith  _ Master. _ ”

Obi-Wan shook his head, but did not pause; it seemed almost as if, now that he had started talking, he could not stop himself. Qui-Gon hoped, for Anakin’s sake, that he would censor himself at least a  _ bit. _

Distantly, Qui-Gon recognized that he might be in shock.

“I went into hiding, as did the handful of other Jedi who survived--we were still being hunted, branded ‘traitors’ to the  _ Empire _ . I spent the next twenty years watching over a boy strong in the Force, making sure that the Sith did not find him. And… I found you again.” He looked at Qui-Gon, a bittersweet smile on his face. “You taught me the secrets of the Whills--how to become a Force apparition.”

Qui-Gon blinked--he had that training already, but he had never thought to  _ apply it.  _ It had been an interesting research project in his early days as a Knight, nothing more. Never had he thought that he would  _ need _ such a skill.

“I was killed prematurely, protecting that boy I had watched over. But he made it into good hands, and the growing Rebellion took the fight to the Empire. But the Empire had created a weapon that… Not long before I died, I felt  _ millions _ of lives snuffed out in an instant. The Sith had built something that could destroy an entire  _ planet _ with a single shot. They… Alderaan was just…  _ gone.  _ There one moment, and gone the next, along with everyone on it.”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and resisted the urge to go for more brandy, knowing it would only tempt Obi-Wan.

“That boy I began to train managed to destroy their weapon, and I used the lessons you’d taught me to guide him to Yoda, to complete his training. He went after the Sith, and managed to turn my old apprentice back to the Light. He betrayed his Master, killing him, and… it looked as though we had  _ won,  _ at last.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “He went on to found a new Jedi academy, and took on his sister’s child as a student. But that boy… he turned to the Dark Side as well. He slaughtered his fellow students, and tried to found a new empire. The resistance did what it could, and eventually, a Jedi powerful enough to match him found her way to them. But they discovered something: the location of the Sith’s planet, Exogol--they place where they had managed to train and hide from us for _one thousand years_. The  _ same Sith Master _ who had felled the Republic in the first place was  _ not  _ dead. He had managed to pour his spirit into a cloned body, and was the cause of the Dark rising a second time. They took the fight to him, and once again, the apprentice turned back to the Light, helping to kill the Sith a final time. We finally  _ won _ , and I… I watched them all. I guided them as best I could, and then, when it was finally over… I opened my eyes and I was on Naboo, watching you get run through by Maul.  _ Again. _ ”

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say. He glanced at Anakin, whose brow was furrowed, his mouth twisted in a grimace. Slowly, Qui-Gon put an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and immediately, he sank into Qui-Gon’s side. They stayed that way for a long moment, and it was Anakin who broke the silence.

“You didn’t have to lie,” he said, staring down at the metal floor of the hold.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked slowly, and then he shook his head. “Everything I said was true--” Anakin shook his head, not looking up.

“From a certain point of view?” Anakin huffed, and then paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before taking a breath and continuing. “It was… that Padawan who Fell--it was  _ me,  _ wasn’t it?” Obi-Wan stiffened, but said nothing. “I… saw something, on Ilum. In the caves. I think it was… when you died, last time. That was…  _ I  _ did that, didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan sat up slowly, looking at Anakin with watery eyes. “Padawan, I…”

“ _ Didn’t I? _ ” Anakin demanded, and slowly, Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin sucked in a breath, closing his eyes again, and Obi-Wan reached out to tug on his wrist, pulling Anakin to him. The boy went, and Obi-Wan spread his legs, pulling Anakin to rest between them, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“You are not the same person, this time,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You are so very different already--still  _ you  _ in so many ways, but so very, very different. You are not afraid to  _ love,  _ and you were then. You already understand far more about the difference between love and attachment than you ever did then. And  _ even then _ , you did so much  _ good _ for the galaxy. I forgave you a very long time ago, Anakin. But here and now, you have  _ nothing _ to be forgiven for. These are not things that  _ you  _ have done, or things you even  _ remember _ doing, as Yan does. You are  _ not _ that person, and you will make your own destiny.”

Anakin was silent for a long moment, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest on Obi-Wan’s chest. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Obi-Wan repeated, and Anakin opened his eyes, sitting up so that he could turn to face Obi-Wan.

“Yeah. ‘Okay.’” Anakin shrugged. “It’s… it would probably be harder to hear if I didn’t know about Master Yan, and Asajj. But  _ they _ both Fell before, and now they’re some of the best people I know. And Asajj said she can already tell that you’ve changed things. So I don’t… I just have to keep choosing  _ not _ to be that person, right?”

Obi-Wan’s smile was somewhat wet, but genuine. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Anakin repeated, nodding. “ _ Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it.  _ I won’t Fall.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I believe in you, Anakin. I wouldn’t have taken you on a second time if I didn’t.”

That, at least, seemed to brighten Anakin somewhat, and he smiled wearily. “ _ Vor entye, ori’vod.  _ But… I think I need to be alone for a while.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course.” Anakin stood, and Obi-Wan reached out to grab his hand and squeeze it once, drawing a tight smile from the boy, before he left Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan alone.

“Force,” Qui-Gon whispered. “You… That wasn’t a vision at all, was it?”

“No,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “It wasn’t.”

_ I think of it as reincarnation,  _ Qui-Gon remembered him saying. He shivered. And that scar on Obi-Wan’s collarbone and his back… Qui-Gon had always wondered about it, but Obi-Wan’s eyes had turned  _ frigid _ cold whenever Qui-Gon’s gaze rested just a bit too long on that mark, and so he had never broached the subject. But in light of this…

“That scar that you have. Is that…?”

“How I died?” Obi-Wan finished, smiling wryly. “Yes.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes.  _ Anakin  _ had killed him.  _ Anakin  _ had given him that scar. The boy that  _ Qui-Gon  _ had found, the boy that  _ he _ had insisted needed to be trained--

“Stop that,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon opened his eyes again. Obi-Wan was frowning at him. “I meant what I said. I think we can keep him in the Light, this time. I  _ know  _ we can. And it may be attachment, but I made my peace with that long ago, and I just… I love him far too much not to at least  _ try. _ ”

Qui-Gon nodded, but said nothing. He would have to meditate on that, but--later. Much later.

“I am about to be incredibly irresponsible,” Qui-Gon said serenely, and Obi-Wan frowned at him. Qui-Gon smiled wanly and uncapped the brandy. “I intend to finish this bottle before going to bed. Would you care to join me?”

Obi-Wan’s answering smile was grim as he reached for the  _ tihaar _ . “Qui-Gon, whether or not  _ you  _ were drinking, I was already planning on it.”

* * *

Qui-Gon woke with a pounding headache and a roiling stomach, but even so, he could not bring himself to regret the indulgence the night before. He and Obi-Wan had  _ both _ needed that, and the liquor had loosened Obi-Wan up enough to tell him a few of the  _ good  _ memories he had of that other-when. Though it was distressing that even his  _ good _ memories had mostly taken place during the war.

Still, he groaned and swore as he dragged himself out of his bunk and into the little galley, wincing as he heard a metal pan  _ clink _ sharply on the stove.

“Morning, Master Qui-Gon!” Anakin called loudly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Please don’t yell, Anakin,” Qui-Gon groaned, sliding into the little bench built into the wall beside the table. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and Anakin laughed.

“ _ Buir _ always said those who overindulge should be  _ loudly  _ reminded of it the next morning, and it might make them think differently about it next time,” Anakin said wickedly, and then he turned around and  _ winked _ at Qui-Gon. He frowned, his brow furrowing.

“Anakin,” he said seriously, and waited until the boy looked over him again. “How are you? Truly. Yesterday’s revelations were… difficult.”

Anakin shook his head, turning his eyes to the floor, and then he hastily turned back to the pan, shrugging jerkily as he flipped the flatcakes he was making. “I’m… okay. Really. I’m… maybe not  _ as _ okay as I made Master Obi-Wan think, but he has too much to worry about right now. He’s  _ hurting,  _ and I don’t… I don’t want to add my problems to his.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Ani, I think Obi-Wan would be  _ happier _ if you confided in him rather than trying to protect him. You  _ are _ the Padawan, and he is your Master. It is  _ his _ job to care for  _ you. _ ”  _ As I always failed to do for Obi-Wan,  _ he thought, but did not say. Anakin sighed.

“I  _ know  _ that’s how it’s supposed to work, but it’s just… It’s not  _ me,  _ Master Qui-Gon. I know who I am,” he said, and for the briefest instant, Qui-Gon could  _ see it-- _ Anakin, standing far taller than he did now, his hair long and curly, holding a helmet under one hand, clad in  _ beskar’gam,  _ his head thrown back as he laughed with his free hand clapped on Obi-Wan’s own armored shoulder--he shook his head to clear it as Anakin continued speaking, grimacing as the motion worsened the pounding ache. “At least, I know  _ this part _ of who I am. I  _ protect _ people. It’s what I left Tatooine to do. And if I can protect Master Obi-Wan by working through some of this on my own before I talk to  _ him  _ about it, then that’s what I’ll do. He takes too much onto himself as it is.”

Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed at his temples, wishing that he did not have to have this debate with such a monstrous hangover. “Have you thought that perhaps you are doing the same?”

Anakin shrugged again. “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.” Qui-Gon huffed a disgruntled laugh, and Anakin glanced at him, smirking. “Seriously. I’m okay. As… okay as I can be. I just… I’m thinking about  _ him _ as someone different. It’s… I’ve heard about enough Jedi Falling to know that it can happen to  _ anyone.  _ It’s a risk we all have  _ anyway,  _ and if I… I  _ haven’t _ done any of the things  _ he _ did. I still have a chance to do  _ good,  _ and I’m going to see it through.”

Qui-Gon smiled gently, though he winced as he looked up again at Anakin. “I admire your determination. It suits you.”

Anakin’s smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine. “ _ Vor’e. _ Now, you need to eat. I know it’s the last thing you  _ feel _ like doing, but you’ll feel better if you do.”

Qui-Gon huffed a laugh. “Very well. Thank you.”

* * *

Obi-Wan seemed far more composed than Qui-Gon, which made the man worry all over again about his alcohol tolerance, and just how much he might be drinking lately. But Obi-Wan turned around in the pilot’s seat as Qui-Gon followed Anakin to the cockpit, and smirked at him.

“I tried to convince you to purge the alcohol from your system before bed,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug. “But you were… a bit too far gone for that, by the end of the night.”

Qui-Gon huffed and shook his head, which was no longer pounding quite so insistently, having settled down to a dull ache after Anakin’s flatcakes. He took the chair behind Obi-Wan’s, gesturing for Anakin to take the copilot’s chair for the landing, and the boy grinned excitedly.

“Hitting realspace in three, two…” Anakin stopped as the streaking stars  _ stopped,  _ and a planet came into view. It looked to have no continents, covered entirely by ocean.

Qui-Gon leaned forward to glance at the naviscreen and frowned. These  _ were _ the same coordinates Obi-Wan had input, and just as he’d promised, there was a planet here that was not in their database, though all of the stars and planets around it were.

Obi-Wan flicked open the comms. “Tipoca City, this is the  _ Prudii _ , Jedi stealth-class. Requesting permission to land.”

It took only a moment before someone answered, a calm, smooth voice. “ _ Please proceed to platform O-11. _ ”

“We copy.” Obi-Wan gestured for Anakin to take over, and he nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration as he piloted through the winds Qui-Gon could feel buffeting the ship as they entered the atmosphere. Once they were down below the clouds, everything seemed to calm, and there, as if floating atop the ocean, was a gleaming white city.

Anakin’s landing was perfect, and as the engines wound down, Obi-Wan clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done. Kamino’s winds are not to be underestimated.”

Anakin grinned at the praise, nodding, and then jumped up. “Ready?”

Obi-Wan’s own smile turned rather wooden. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

Obi-Wan did not replace his helmet, but he did take it with him, holding it under his left arm. Qui-Gon allowed him and Anakin to exit first, following just behind, and quickly joined by R2-D2. There were several people waiting for them on the platform: Shmi waved at them, smiling broadly; beside her were two tall, willowy, light-skinned beings, hairless, with large eyes and long necks--the native Kaminoans, Qui-Gon guessed, and probably aquatic or amphibious; on the other side of them was Jango Fett, holding a small child on his hip. Qui-Gon blinked at the incongruous picture they made, the toddler in his arms holding on to the upper edge of Fett’s chestplate. His brow furrowed as he saw Fett’s gaze catch on the new scar on Obi-Wan’s armor, a look of  _ concern _ crossing his face for the barest of moments before it faded into a more neutral expression.

They stopped several feet away and bowed, Obi-Wan again crossing his right fist over his chest. The Kaminoans dipped their heads on their large necks, and then they all straightened.

“ _ Ba’vodu! _ ” the child Fett held said excitedly, reaching one hand out for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan blinked, and Anakin laughed loudly. Qui-Gon’s memory for Mando’a was not the best, but he frowned as he slowly translated-- _ uncle? _

“ _ Su’cuy, vod’ad _ ,” Obi-Wan said gently, and then he turned his attention to the Kaminoans. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, and Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And this--” He gestured to the droid. “--is R2-D2.”

“We are pleased to receive visitors from the Jedi Order,” one of the Kaminoans said--a man, Qui-Gon thought, with an interesting, possibly vestigial, fin atop his head. “I am Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino. This is Taun We, our chief scientist and researcher. We understand that you already know Lady Shmi and Sir Fett.”

“Indeed we do.”

Lama Su bobbed his head again and gestured for them all to begin walking towards the complex. “We assume you have come to inspect our progress on your order.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, with no trace of discomfort, his negotiator-mask firmly in place.

“We believe you will be pleased with the units,” Lama Su said, and though there was a distinct lack of inflection in everything he said, Qui-Gon felt a tendril of  _ pride _ in the Force from him that made him feel queasy. To be  _ proud _ of  _ creating lives _ only to turn them into  _ soldier-slaves… _

“How many batches thus far?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Seventy-nine,” Taun We answered. “There are 11,233 units at this time; 3,000 decanted within the last two months; and 6,000 more will be ready for decanting within three months. We project that 400,000 units will be decanted within the next two years. Now that we have refined our processes, we can increase production exponentially to ensure the order is filled.”

Obi-Wan nodded and smiled. “That is good progress. Perhaps you would give us a tour of the facility?”

“Of course, Master Jedi,” Taun We said, bobbing her head again. “It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

They were led first to a massive room--everywhere Qui-Gon looked, he saw conveyor belts of tanks, filled with fluids and  _ children,  _ and he forced himself to breathe, wrapping the comfort of the Force around him to ensure his expression did not betray his feelings.

Force, this was so  _ wrong. _

“The units incubate here for eighteen-point-three standard weeks,” Taun We explained, gesturing a thin, grateful hand dismissively towards the cloned children. “During incubation, we perform standard quality testing, of course. Units not considered viable are terminated.”

_ Terminated.  _ Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched.

“And what criteria is considered unviable?” Obi-Wan asked, somehow blessedly calm.

“Any unit that, due to genetic variation or processing issues, would not live past the age of two standard years is considered unviable.” Obi-Wan hummed and nodded slowly, showing no outward sign of any reaction, but in the Force, echoing down their bond, Qui-Gon caught a heavy bolt of  _ surprise.  _ “Other units that are decanted with undesirable defects are removed from training.”

And that caused a flutter of outright  _ shock _ down the bond, and Qui-Gon knew Anakin had also felt that when they both looked at Obi-Wan, who merely smiled serenely at the Kaminoan.

“A sensible course,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Are they kept with the others, or separately?”

“They are kept separate. Of course, we provide them standard education, although they will not be able to count towards the unit total for the order,” Taun We said. Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully.

“Still, I would wish to see them,” he said. “A deaf trooper may still analyze intelligence reports, and a blind man has the potential yet to become a translator.” Qui-Gon felt Shmi and Fett’s satisfaction at that, and he smiled himself.

“Of course,” Taun We repeated, bobbing her head. “I will include them in our tour.”

“Thank you.”

From there, Taun We led them across the glass-enclosed walkway to another viewing station, looking down on an obstacle course where the clones--the  _ children,  _ and  _ Force,  _ this was so  _ wrong _ ; and when he looked at them, it was  _ eerie _ to see the same face repeated again and again--were required to leap, duck, shoot, and climb to reach the end. They watched a few go through the course in identical white armor, and Qui-Gon felt an  _ itch _ and knew that someone was studying them. He scrutinized the crowd and found one particular clone--in full armor, including his helmet, so Qui-Gon could not divine his expression, and the Force was no help, not at this distance and with so many others around--staring up at them. He glanced at the others, and frowned. It looked like Obi-Wan had locked eyes with that clone through the helmet.

“Impressive,” Obi-Wan said as the buzzer sounded, the child who had been running through the course reaching the end.

“We hoped you would be pleased,” Taun We said, and then she stiffened. Obi-Wan did as well, and he slowly looked up at her.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “Shall we continue?”

“Please follow me,” Taun We said, regaining her easy composure.

She took them to see the “decommissioned” clones--those with genetic defects who were unable to continue with the rest of the children in the same training program. As they entered, Shmi stepped forward, clapping her hands.

“ _ Su’cuy, ade! _ ”

“ _ Su’cuy, ba’vodu! _ ” the children cried as one. Qui-Gon saw a number of physical differences, from missing or twisted or limp limbs to hunched backs, but they looked happy enough, and their excitement in the Force was clear at seeing them. They all wore the black bodysuits that went under the white armor, but not all of them wore the armor itself, and none wore the featureless helmets. Qui-Gon found himself grateful for that--seeing the same face was far less disconcerting than seeing the featureless white masks.

“We have visitors today,” she said. “Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Knight Kenobi, and Padawan Skywalker of the Jedi Order have come to meet you.”

A hush fell over the children, and then all Hel broke loose.

Several of the children ran straight to them, tripping over each other to introduce themselves to the Jedi. Qui-Gon found his attention caught by three little ones--one seemed to be blind, judging from the cloudiness of his eyes, and he took Qui-Gon’s hand in his own; another was likely non-verbal, as he simply made gurgling noises and gestured wildly with a blunt training knife; the third was quiet and still, and there  _ seemed _ to be nothing wrong with him, but he simply sat down in front of Qui-Gon and  _ stared  _ at him.

“Hello,” Qui-Gon said, smiling gently at them and slowly lowering himself to the ground. The children on either side sat as he did. He turned first to the child with the knife. “Your grip is very good. I imagine that you’ll be a menace with that weapon, one day.” The child made a noise approximating a laugh, and Qui-Gon’s smile flickered as he suddenly understood the reason for his gurgling wordlessness--he had no tongue. But he seemed happy, and so Qui-Gon turned to the next child, the blind child, radiating anxiety in the Force. He reached for the boy’s hand and squeezed gently. “Were you born blind?” He kept his voice gentle, but still the child flinched. Again, Qui-Gon squeezed his hand softly.

“Yessir.”

“My dearest friend was blind,” Qui-Gon said. “She was not born so, however. She was on a mission for the Order when she lost her sight. And you know what?”

“What?” the boy asked softly.

“She continued to be a Jedi after she lost her sight,” Qui-Gon said gently. The boy smiled tentatively. “She still took missions for the Order, and she could still show me a thing or two in a spar.” The boy’s smile widened, and he nodded. Qui-Gon glanced at the fully mute boy, but he simply shook his head slowly. Qui-Gon nodded back. “What do you all like to do for fun?”

“Sometimes we get to use the sim rooms! I like to play the Sacking of Coruscant, and try to save the Temple,” the blind boy declared. Qui-Gon blinked, and then laughed. What  _ else  _ could he do in the face of such a surreal statement?

“That does sound… interesting,” Qui-Gon said, and then he paused. “Are you interested in the Temple?”

“‘Course we are!” the blind boy declared. The silent one nodded, and the tongueless child made a vague sound of agreement. “We were made for the Jedi. Of course we’re interested!”

Qui-Gon’s smile became a bit tense, but he forced himself to take a breath. “When I was a Padawan--an apprentice--my Master’s dearest friend was the Head Archivist. She told me a fact or two that may interest you.”

All of their smiles were blinding, and Qui-Gon knew, in that moment, that whatever may come, he would not allow these children to become little more than flesh-droids at the behest of the Sith.  _ He  _ would not allow it.

* * *

The children kept them occupied for several hours, and Qui-Gon could sense the particular feeling of children resisting exhaustion by sheer force of will echoing around him. It made him smile broadly and consider that, perhaps, he had gone too long without serving a rotation in the Temple creche.

“I am certain you are weary from your journey, and would prefer to rest tonight,” Taun We said as they gathered around her again. Anakin’s tunics were covered in paint, and his hair was sticky with blue and gold paint as well, and Qui-Gon had to bite back a laugh at the sight of him. Obi-Wan looked… blank, that perfectly peaceful mask on his face again, and his shields were impenetrable. “We will hold a formal dinner to welcome you tomorrow evening, if that is acceptable.”

“Quite, thank you.”

Taun we bobbed her head. “We have prepared quarters for you near Lady Shmi and Sir Fett’s. Please allow me to show them to you.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan repeated, nodding.

Qui-Gon had been given his own set of rooms while Obi-Wan and Anakin were kept together. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to scowl at that; he would have  _ preferred _ to be close to Obi-Wan. He had a feeling that Obi-Wan was far more affected by being here, seeing this, than he let on. But he thanked Taun We graciously and bowed, watching her go, standing in front of the door to his temporary quarters.

“I will prepare dinner for us,” Shmi declared. “Please, come. You may relax and speak freely in my quarters.”

“I’ll put Boba down,” Fett said. The child was fast asleep, half-slung over his shoulder with one arm wrapped around him, keeping him from moving. He went to the door beside Shmi’s and disappeared into the rooms as Shmi opened hers.

It was clearly well lived in, and Shmi had managed to make the stark white, flowing lines of her rooms into something  _ homey.  _ There were several hand-woven decorations hanging on the walls--from Tatooine, if Qui-Gon had to guess--and there were brightly colored cushions and a few blankets thrown over the back of the couch. Shmi made her way to the kitchen immediately, waving a hand at them.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable.  _ After _ you wash up, Anakin,” Shmi added, affectionate humor in her voice. Anakin wrinkled his nose and looked down at his tunics.

“Yeah. I think I’ll need something else to wear though. My pack’s still on the ship.”

“I have spare bodysuits in my room,” Shmi declared. “I’ll lay one out for you. Now go shower.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “ _ ‘Lek, buir. _ ”

Shmi shook her head and followed him into her room. Obi-Wan watched them go and then let out a shaky breath as he sank down onto the couch, Qui-Gon sitting beside him. R2-D2 rolled over to sit on the floor beside Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon wondered why the little droid seemed to be so protective of Obi-Wan, now, rather than Anakin.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon found himself asking. Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly and leaned forward to put his helmet on the caff table.

“They’re so much younger than before,” he murmured. “I didn’t meet them until they at least  _ looked _ like adults, last time.”

Their conversation paused as the door opened, Fett letting himself back in. He stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the two of them, and then he shook his head and headed for the kitchen without a word. Shmi joined him, after a moment, and there was silence in the apartment until the two Mandalorians returned, handing them steaming cups of… something. Qui-Gon accepted it with a smile and breathed deeply, humming in surprise.

“ _ Shig? _ ” Shmi nodded, and Qui-Gon drank deeply. He had not enjoyed much of the Mandalorian food and drink they had had during their time protecting the Duchess, but  _ shig,  _ at least, was palatable.

“I have several… uncomfortable questions,” Obi-Wan sighed, leaning back and wrapping both hands around the warm mug. “The decommissioning--did the two of you campaign for that?”

“Not at all,” Shmi said. “The  _ Kaminiise _ had the system already in place.”

“It was in the contract. They proposed it,” Fett added. Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“And the conditions for what is considered ‘non-viable?’”

“Already set in the initial contract as well,” Fett said, frowning lightly. “Why?”

Obi-Wan hummed and shook his head. “The accelerated aging is… quick.”

“Yes. They should reach the equivalent of twenty Standard by the time they are eight. After that, they will be given gene therapy to halt the accelerated aging completely. Normal aging after that,” Fett said with a shrug. Obi-Wan frowned.

“Curious,” he murmured before taking a sip of his  _ shig. _

“Why do you ask?” Shmi demanded.

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “It’s all… different,” he said. “ _ Then,  _ ‘decommissioned’ meant… euthanized. We were appalled when we found out, of course, and put a stop to  _ that-- _ and the termination of a far wider definition of ‘non-viable’ children _.  _ And there was never any cure for the accelerated aging--and they weren’t aging quite so quickly. It took the full ten years just to get them to about twenty Standard.”

“What does that mean?” Qui-Gon asked slowly. Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed stormy grey.

“I’m beginning to suspect that--” Obi-Wan cut himself off as Anakin reappeared, his skin bright pink from the warm shower, his hair still a bit damp, and wearing only the black bodysuit that would go underneath armor. Obi-Wan smiled wearily at him.

“Come, Ani. You can help me make dinner,” Shmi declared, and he shrugged easily and followed her into the kitchen.

Fett stared at Obi-Wan for a long moment, but he merely shook his head. Fett grunted and turned his attention to Qui-Gon.

“So you’re his  _ buir. _ ” Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but did not deny it. Fett narrowed his eyes, but said nothing further, simply staring at Qui-Gon. There was something… hostile about him, certainly, but he felt no warning from the Force, and so Qui-Gon merely sipped at his  _ shig _ quietly.

“ _ Ba’vodu,  _ Jango?” Obi-Wan said, interrupting Fett’s staring. The  _ Mand’alor  _ shrugged.

“He heard me call you  _ vod. _ ” Obi-Wan laughed. “ _ Vor’e.  _ For convincing Kryze to leave. The  _ Jorad’alor _ would not have been happy, had she stayed.”

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan sighed. They lapsed into silence again, though it was not quite as tense this time. It took several long minutes, Qui-Gon wondering where his negotiation skills had fled to as he searched for something to say, but finally, Shmi and Anakin called them over to eat.

With Anakin at the table, the tension thankfully melted away. The boy was so  _ curious,  _ and he had a million questions for both Shmi and Fett about Kamino, and their lives there, and he easily filled the silence.

“The city  _ looks  _ like it’s floating, but is it really? Or is it anchored to the seafloor?” Anakin asked.

“Anchored,” Fett answered shortly before taking another bite of the fish they’d prepared. Swallowing, he continued, “But it could detach, in case of emergency. The generators would power motors to keep it afloat.”

“Wizard,” Anakin said, his eyes shining. No doubt he found that an interesting engineering challenge, Qui-Gon mused with a smile. “And the Kaminoans--are they amphibious? Can they breath in water? Or do they have to surface for air?”

“Not sure,” Fett grunted with a shrug. Anakin frowned, and then brightened as he thought of another question.

“Was that your Firespray on the other platform?” Fett nodded, and Anakin bit his lip. “Can I look at the engines? They’re still listed as experimental, and I’d really like to see it!” Fett glanced at Shmi, who smiled, and then he shrugged again.

“I don’t see why not. Maybe tomorrow.”

“ _ Vor’e! _ ” Anakin said. Qui-Gon frowned as he heard a small child’s voice, though he couldn’t quite discern what they were saying, and Fett sighed, hitting one of the buttons on his armor and rising.

“Boba’s back up,” he sighed. Fett nodded to them all, meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze for a moment, expressionless, and then he turned on his heel and left.

“I don’t think he cares for me much,” Qui-Gon said, raising an eyebrow. Obi-Wan grimaced.

“I’m afraid that’s partly my fault,” he sighed. “I told him where I was when Galidraan happened.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Ah. That would explain it.”

“What?” Anakin asked, looking between the two of them. “What are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Later, if you don’t mind. We have enough to discuss in the coming days without adding that to the list. Once we return to the Temple, perhaps.”

Anakin frowned, but nodded his acceptance. Qui-Gon frowned as he noticed him pushing his food around on his plate more than eating it. He wondered if Anakin was more affected by what Obi-Wan had revealed about his “vision” than he had first let on, and Qui-Gon resolved to speak to him as soon as he could.

That decided, he turned his attention to the discussion Shmi and Obi-Wan had started about the Mandalorian trainers she had brought back with her from Concord Dawn, even as Qui-Gon noticed that, through the rest of the meal, Anakin tried to avoid looking at Shmi as much as possible.

Yes, that settled it. He would have to pull him aside and ask what was wrong.

* * *

Qui-Gon got his opportunity just after dinner. Obi-Wan looked pale and tired, and bid them goodnight, but Anakin hesitated, not immediately following him.

“I’m just… I don’t think I can sleep right now,” Anakin said, shaking his head and looking at the ground. “Too much to think about.”

Obi-Wan frowned and took a step towards him, but Qui-Gon put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed gently. To Obi-Wan, he said, “I can watch him, if you’d like to rest now. I’ll be up for a time myself.”

He received a raised eyebrow in silent question, and Qui-Gon smiled tightly and nodded. Finally, Obi-Wan sighed and nodded in return.

“Alright. Don’t stay up too late, Padawan.”

“I won’t.”

Obi-Wan smiled at them both, giving Qui-Gon one last, lingering look before disappearing into the rooms the Kaminoans had given him and Anakin to share. Qui-Gon gently steered Anakin into his rooms and gestured at the couch, taking one of the strange, almost egg-shaped chairs across from it. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Anakin wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Qui-Gon resisted the urge to sigh. “What’s bothering you?”

The boy frowned, and shifted his weight, not-quite-squirming, before he asked, “Can good people do bad things and still be good people?”

Qui-Gon blinked, and then frowned. “What brought this on?”

“I just… On Naboo, when we were in the tunnels, my  _ buir…  _ did something. I  _ get  _ why she did it, but… I don’t think it was right.”

“What happened?” Qui-Gon asked gently, but firmly. Anakin sighed.

“There were those… people, in the tunnels, waiting for us. We fought them, and once it was over,  _ buir _ asked one of them who they were,” Anakin said slowly, looking down at the too-bright white floor. “They wouldn’t tell her who they were working for, so she… tortured him.”

Qui-Gon breathed deeply, closing his eyes. “What,  _ exactly,  _ did she do?”

“She’d cut one of them with her vibroblade, slashed him across the stomach. First she stepped on him, putting her boot right over the cut, and when he still wouldn’t answer, she used the knife in the toe of her boot to open the cut wider,” Anakin said dully. Qui-Gon felt a shiver run down his spine. That was hardly the most extreme case he had ever heard of, but it  _ was _ still torture.

And she had done it in front of her own son.

“I know what she did was wrong,” Anakin said softly. “We had other options--I’m pretty sure the Duchess hit a few with her blaster, and she was only using stun rounds. We could have just… taken the ones who were stunned with us, to interrogate later, but… she didn’t. So I’m just… I don’t know. I’m…”

“Confused,” Qui-Gon suggested, opening his eyes to see Anakin nodding. “And frightened, I think.” Another, slower nod. “You’re right, Ani. What she did  _ was _ wrong, especially if she did have other options. But… what did you  _ feel _ from her?”

Anakin finally looked up, brow furrowed as he frowned at Qui-Gon. “What?”

“In the Force. What did you sense from her?”

He paused, clearly turning the memory over, and then said, “Resignation. Determination. She… didn’t want me to see. I felt that, too.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “So she did not enjoy it.”

Anakin tilted his head. “What does that matter?”

“It matters a great deal,” Qui-Gon told him. “Those who  _ enjoy _ making others suffer often jump to it as a first resort, and  _ that _ is true evil. But those who are relatively inexperienced can simply make  _ mistakes.  _ I don’t believe that your mother is a bad person, Ani. She taught you to be kind, loving, and generous. But… she has entered a different world, now. Mandalorians are a violent people, and she has spent the past few years immersed in training with one of the most violent Mandalorians there is.” Anakin frowned, and Qui-Gon shook his head. “Whatever else he may be, Jango Fett is a  _ dangerous  _ and  _ violent _ man. Did you know that he killed six Jedi on Galidraan with his bare hands?” Anakin nodded slowly, grimacing. Qui-Gon nodded back. “And he had his reasons for doing so, in the heat of battle, but if he had simply  _ cooperated _ with the Jedi on Galidraan, then it’s likely the True Mandalorians would have been cleared of their crimes, after an investigation. Instead, he and his followers resorted to violence as the first option. Your mother has been following his example.”

Anakin frowned. “But… Master Obi-Wan swore to the  _ Resol’nare.  _ Why would the Council have been okay with that if the  _ Mand’alor  _ isn’t a good man, and if Mandalorians are so violent?”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I’m not saying that Jango Fett is a  _ bad  _ person. But he does have a different moral code than we do, and he has passed that on to your mother, as part of her training. And besides, Obi-Wan’s vows did not include allegiance to him, and the  _ Resol’nare _ it self, in theory, only holds a requirement for self-defense, and does not hold violence and conquest as an ideal in itself.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. “So… what should I  _ do? _ ”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “What do you  _ think _ you should do?”

Anakin tilted his head thoughtfully again, and then sighed. “Talk to her. And maybe the  _ Mand’alor,  _ too.”

Qui-Gon nodded, smiling gently at him. “Precisely. Let her know that you are concerned by what happened, and see if you can’t convince her to try other avenues in the future, rather than going to such lengths.” He nodded, but Qui-Gon still sensed some tension in him. “Is there anything else bothering you?”

Anakin sighed again, reaching up to tug at his braid. Qui-Gon’s heart ached--Obi-Wan used to do the same, when he was lost in thought, or terribly nervous, and it sent a wave of nostalgia through him. “It’s just… It’s like you said--she’s been in a different world. I feel like… she’s so  _ different  _ now, I almost feel like… I don’t know her anymore. Not like I used to.”

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “You know that Yan and I stopped speaking for years at a time, of course.” Anakin nodded. “A Jedi’s Master is the closest to a parent that most of us know, and that comes with the usual cycle of emotions towards them. Adulation and admiration, at first, and then comfort and love, but everyone must grow up, someday, and see the flaws within their idols. There comes a day when you realize that they are mere sentients, just as the rest of us are. No one is perfect, Anakin.

“Your mother lived a harsh life. I’m certain she saw much death and violence, as a slave. Once she gained the skills to fight, I am unsurprised that she does not have a good grasp of clear moral boundaries, when it comes to violence. Her expectations were skewed by brutal experiences, and then further pushed by Fett’s training,” Qui-Gon said as gently as he could. Anakin nodded slowly.

“Master Obi-Wan said that I should think about talking to Healer B’Nari, about Tatooine,” he said. “Do you think  _ buir _ should talk to someone, too?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Anakin nodded again, and some of the stiffness left his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll talk to her about it. Thanks, Master Qui-Gon.”

He smiled. “Thank you for trusting me enough to have this conversation. I’m sure it was difficult for you.” Anakin nodded, looking suddenly weary, and Qui-Gon rose. “I’ll make sure that you have time alone with your mother tomorrow, to speak to her about this. For now, you’d best keep your promise to Obi-Wan, and get yourself to bed.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin stood, Qui-Gon following him; Anakin hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward to hug him briefly. “Thanks again. Just… for listening.”

Qui-Gon smiled and squeezed his shoulders gently. “I will always be here for you, Ani. For as long as you will allow me to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Trilla, Jinto, Mrs. Suduri. I'm so sorry.
> 
> I noticed a lot of divisions in the comments about what Shmi did during the fighting. I hope that this conversation helps frame where I think Shmi was coming from during that fight without diminishing her badassery. :)
> 
> And we finally find out what Obi-Wan remembers! Literally EVERYTHING from his time as Force ghost. I will address why later, I promise. ;)


	21. Siri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll get back to Kamino soon! But we've got some loose threads on Coruscant to start tying up first... :)

Siri was _not_ having a good day. She’d woken up with the sort of headache she knew she wouldn’t be able to fix herself; it was the sort of buzzing, pulsing pain that meant one of her bond-mates was in serious trouble. And she had _known_ immediately who it was, but still, she sighed and sank down on her meditation mat to sink into the Force, carefully checking each bond. Quinlan, Garen, Bant, Reeft, Adi--they were all fine. She wasn’t able to sense anything too specific, except from Bant, who was still in the Temple, but the distress wasn’t from any of them. And that only left one other--

But _why_ was it _always_ Obi-Wan?

Gritting her teeth, Siri opened her eyes, huffed, and shook her head. It was no use worrying. She knew that he was on Naboo now, and that was entirely too far for her to be of any help. She tried to give the feeling to the Force, but that did nothing to stop the strange ache. Sighing again, she rubbed at her temples and gave it up, rising. There was still work to be done, and it wouldn’t wait just because the Force’s will that day was that she have a headache.

She filled up a large thermos with caff, having long ago stopped bothering with individual cups, even when she was only going to be at the terminal in her own quarters. Siri had just barely screwed the top on when the buzzing became a _screech._ She had just enough presence of mind to be glad that she’d sealed the thermos as it hit the ground before she could do nothing other than cling to the counter in her kitchen, her eyes watering.

Siri had no idea how long she stood there, hunched over, shaking, before the pain finally passed. She let out a _woosh_ of air and blinked the tears away, reaching for her commlink. It chirped in her hand, and Siri knew immediately who that would be.

“Bant,” she croaked.

“ _You felt that too?_ ” Bant asked, voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“ _Is he… Do you think he’s…?_ ” Siri grimaced and closed her eyes, tentatively brushing up against the bond. It felt like… static, but not the _buzzing_ and _pounding_ of before.

But it was _something,_ it wasn’t just empty silence, a void she could stumble into and fall and fall forever if she let herself. That meant that Obi-Wan was _alive_.

“He’s alive,” Siri assured her. And, perhaps, herself, just a bit. “He’s alive.” Her comm chirped again with another incoming call, and she sighed. “I have to go, Bant. I’m sorry.”

“ _It’s alright. I’ll… comm the others, too._ ”

Siri nodded even though she knew Bant couldn’t see it, and took a deep breath before answering Tholme’s call. “Tachi.”

“ _My office. Now,_ ” he barked, and Siri scowled. She _knew_ that tone, and what it meant: a _massive_ wave of shit just hit the fan.

“Yes, Master. Is this… about Naboo?” she asked. Tholme hesitated for a moment.

“ _Yes. How did you know?_ ”

“Obi-Wan and I have a pairbond, from when we were younger. It went crazy, just a bit ago. Like the last time he was on Naboo--and Bant felt it too,” Siri explained, bending down to grab her thermos and peering at her slightly blurred reflection in the metal cooling unit to make sure she was at least passable to be walking through the Halls. Nodding to herself, she turned to head for the door.

“ _...I see._ ”

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” Siri promised, and ended the call. The instant her door opened, she broke into a jog, sending the Padawans in the halls jumping out of her way while the Masters stopped to give her disapproving looks. She made it to Tholme’s office in just under two minutes, and nodded to herself in satisfaction before entering without knocking.

Tholme wasn’t alone--Shaak Ti sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, frowning down at a datapad. She glanced up as Siri entered, giving her a tight smile. Tholme nodded to her and waved a hand at the other chair.

“What happened?” Siri asked. Master Ti sighed and handed over the datapad, where a news feed was paused. Siri took a breath and played it.

“ _Breaking news in the Mid-Rim: only moments ago, we received footage of_ **_another_ ** _attack on the world of Naboo, in the Chommell sector,_ ” a pretty Twi’lek announcer said gravely. “ _Today was meant to be a celebration, their annual observation of the end of the blockade around the planet three years ago, known as ‘Freedom Day.’ But there was no celebration today. Please be advised that the following footage is not suitable for younglings. Viewer discretion is advised._ ”

It cut to a grand staircase, leading up to a dais. The sun shone overhead, and cheering crowds filled the square below. On the dais, there were the ambassadors Siri had heard would be there, and--Obi-Wan. Her heart rate picked up, and she forced herself to take slow, deep, even breaths as she watched Queen Amidala and the Gungan leader raise their hands, an honor guard of Nubian fighters overhead, and then--

It must have been a rocket, Siri realized, frowning at the video. The timing was too perfect for it not to have been. But they missed those on the dais, hitting the stairs just below them, sending up fire and smoke and chunks of stone this way and that. The camera shook slightly, but whoever had recorded it had gone for something of a bird’s-eye-view, likely in another building, and were relatively safe where they were.

Through the smoke, Siri saw several unidentifiable beings approaching the bottom of the stairs, carelessly pushing their way through the panicked crowd. And then another black-clad figure came forward, wearing robes, not armor, and Siri squinted at it. Was that a _Zabrak?_ The camera zoomed in just enough for her to see better despite the diminished quality, and yes, that _was_ a Zabrak, but one with green-and-black markings this time. That couldn’t mean anything good, since the last time a Zabrak had been on Naboo, it had been a _Sith_.

The Naboo, the ambassadors, the Jedi, and a gaggle of Gungans finally descended the stairs, stopping short as they saw the black-armored figures. There seemed to be some sort of exchange, and Siri sucked in a breath as they all ignited lightsabers-- _red_ lightsabers. _Fuck._

All Hel broke loose, then. The Royal Guard and the Gungans guided the civilians away from the square, and Siri caught a glance of several in Mandalorian armor. Obi-Wan himself had jammed his helmet onto his head before descending the steps, and from this distance, the only thing separating him from the _Sith_ in full, black armor was his blue ‘saber. The Zabrak flipped over Master Windu to reach Obi-Wan, engaging him with his lightstaff, and the others rushed the remaining Masters. It was difficult to see exactly _what_ happened, between the distance, shaky zoom, and what Siri knew would’ve been Force-enhanced speed from all of the combatants.

She watched as Master Windu was the first to dispatch his opponent, though Siri thought he might have taken a hit or two during the fighting, both from the Sith’s ‘saber _and_ their heavy boots, but he put on an impressive show of vapaad and swiftly put down his adversary. He went to help Master Dooku, and then Master Jinn was rising into the air, one hand reaching for his throat, his other limply dropping his ‘saber, and Siri felt sick, her grip on the ‘pad tightening. But then the Sith flew back, and Master Jinn dropped. Siri forced herself to _breathe_ as she saw Obi-Wan had been behind that Force-push, but the slight lapse in concentration on his own fight had cost him, and the Zabrak scored a hit to his chest. She forced herself to remember that he was _alive,_ she’d _felt it._

After that, Master Jinn pulled out a surprising bit of vapaad himself to kill the Sith. He glanced around, taking in Master Dooku and Master Windu working together, and raced up the stairs behind the Zabrak still trying to take Obi-Wan’s head off. Master Jinn kicked him in the back of the knee, and he buckled; Obi-Wan took his opportunity, his ‘saber coming down, and then the Zabrak was waving hand-less arms around, and Master Jinn flew back, landing hard near the upturned stones where the flames still smoldered. Obi-Wan took the Zabrak’s head off and immediately headed for Master Dooku and Master Windu.

But Master Dooku was… Siri frowned. What _was_ he doing? It seemed like he was trying to defend both the Sith _and_ Master Windu, and Obi-Wan’s entry into the fray didn’t seem to help matters much. Finally, Obi-Wan pushed Master Dooku back _hard,_ and he landed not far from Master Jinn and did not move. Master Jinn managed to scoot over to him to check on him, and Master Windu let Obi-Wan take point in the fight, until Obi-Wan waved a hand and Master Windu flipped over the Sith. Obi-Wan parried the strike and grabbed the Sith’s wrist, over-balancing and forcing them to turn towards him, and then Master Windu speared them clean through.

Obi-Wan caught the Sith and lowered them to the ground, and after a moment, pulled off the Sith’s helmet.

Siri’s heart nearly stopped.

“ _What?_ ” she gasped. She _knew_ that face. She hadn’t _known_ Komari Vosa, not personally, anyway, but she’d seen her around the Temple as an Initiate. By the time she was a Padawan, Vosa had already left the Order, after the mess that was Galidraan. Vosa had been too young for that sort of fighting, even if they had been in the _right_ when they’d fought--which they hadn’t been, and that would’ve been even harder to stomach for a Jedi Padawan. The realization that the Order was made up of sentients--powerful sentients, but _sentients_ nonetheless--who made such grave _mistakes_ would have been hard to bear. Siri… almost understood why she’d left.

But to go _this far?_ To become a _Sith?_

Siri forced her attention back to the video, watching as Obi-Wan pressed his hands to the wound in her chest, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, and then a few moments later, he slumped over. Had he just--did he _Force heal_ her? The reckless karking _noble idiot--_

Siri cut the video. Without looking at either Master Ti or Tholme, she put the datapad on his desk and reached for her thermos, the mechanical act of drinking the caff soothing as her mind whirled.

Finally, she met Tholme’s gaze. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Tholme shook his head and sighed. “Master Windu and Knight Kenobi reported in already--briefly, but we have the important facts. They identified two of the Darksiders: the Zabrak was Savage Opress, brother of Maul, the Sith Knight Kenobi killed three years ago. The other…”

“Komari Vosa. Master Dooku’s former Padawan.” Tholme nodded.

“Master Windu and Master Dooku are returning to Coruscant immediately,” he said. “They’re bringing her with them.”

Siri frowned. “They think they can save her.”

Tholme nodded slowly. “They _hope_ so. But even if they can’t, she could be a valuable source of intel.”

“That’s assuming she’s willing to talk to us,” Siri pointed out. Tholme hummed.

“Yes. But we’ll face that problem when it comes,” he said mildly. “With what just happened on Naboo, Knight Vos and Padawan Secura are going to remain there to investigate, see if we can’t find out who the others with Vosa and Opress were. But that also means that he won’t be available to help you with your search for whoever’s been peeking into Kenobi’s files. Hence why I’ve asked Master Ti to… update you.”

Siri frowned and turned to Master Ti, who gave her a careful smile, not displaying her sharp teeth. “I understand Senator Mothma was able to get you further data on the most recent breaches. I have some suggestions on who you might be looking for. But it requires some… explanation.

“I was one of those affected by the Seeing,” Master Ti said, and Siri blinked at her. She smiled tightly, but no less carefully than before. “As was Senator Mothma. This raises the possibility that there were others that we do not know about, and they may be on our side, but there is a possibility that the Sith, or their allies, had the same experience.”

Siri grimaced. Wasn’t _that_ a horrifying thought? “What exactly did you all See?”

“We lived our entire lives,” Master Ti said plainly. “We remember them, and all of us who died violent deaths bear the scars of those deaths.” That was… _unheard of._ “Now, as to how this may help you: the Sith want a war. In our last lives--” And _that_ particular phrase made Siri’s head spin all over again, but she forced herself to pay attention. She would have to meditate later--or find someone to spar with, perhaps. “--the Sith engineered a war as part of their bid for power. We have seen the same plans put in place here and now, and Naboo remains an important player.”

But _why?_ Siri wanted to ask, but the Force urged her to listen, and so she nodded slowly, saying nothing. Master Ti nodded back. “To that end, I would suggest that you look at all of those who were online for each breach, and then pay particular attention to anyone who was either extremely supportive of Senator Palpatine, during the crisis, or highly critical of him.”

Siri nodded slowly. “You think that the Sith were trying to force Naboo’s hand, and make them leave the Republic?”

“Something like that, yes,” Master Ti said, which was no answer at all. Siri resisted the urge to huff and instead nodded again. “We may be looking for a Sith within the Senate, or we may be looking for an ally of ours who remembers what we do, but did not know how to approach us. That is what happened with Senator Mothma--we only realized by chance that she was also affected.”

“Thank you for the insight, Master,” Siri said. “But why would they have so much interest in Obi-Wan’s file specifically?”

Master Ti sighed, looking exasperated, but fond. “He was always far more important than he believed himself to be.”

Which was _true,_ but again, not an answer. Siri bowed her head again, recognizing that she would get no blunt answer. “Thank you. It’s a long list--over five hundred Senate employees, including aides, Senators themselves, and those who work in the building to keep it functioning were all signed on during all of the breaches. It might take me some time to get through; I should get started immediately.”

Tholme laughed. “Yes, I did realize that it was a large project. So I’m assigning you an assistant, of sorts.”

Siri blinked. “Oh?” Perhaps a Padawan, she thought, probably a Senior Padawan who was looking at becoming a Shadow--

“Yes. Padawan Ventress will be assisting you.” Siri frowned at him, and Tholme pursed his lips, his shoulders slumping slightly. “She’s… having a difficult time. Her investigation into the Seeing didn’t end with her own slicing into Kenobi’s file. She stole his holocron, and learned something about herself that was… hard to swallow.”

Siri blinked at him. “She stole--wait, Obi-Wan made a _holocron?_ ”

“Yes. It was a preemptive measure, just after Naboo. He wanted his knowledge preserved, should anything happen to him, since he has the longest memory of anyone who had the same experience,” Tholme explained. Siri nodded slowly. “But as for Padawan Ventress… The Council thinks this may be her Trial of Insight, and her Trial of Spirit. And she’s eager to help--well, eager for _her,_ anyway.” Siri snorted at that--she’d only spoken to the girl a few times, but she was a bit gruff. Not that Siri had any room to talk. “She said she helped create this mess, and so it’s only right that her penance be to help sort through it.”

Siri nodded again. “Alright. If you think she’s ready.”

Tholme grimaced. “Ready or _not,_ the time for this test for her is _now._ And there is one other thing: we plan to brief you fully on the events of that…” He glanced at Master Ti, who trilled thoughtfully.

“Other timeline,” she supplied. “But only _after_ your investigation into the databreaches from the Senate. I would not wish to influence your results.”

Siri nodded slowly. “Yes, Master Ti. Thank you.”

The Togruta Master trilled again and dipped her head. Tholme sighed, and, with far more gravity than the salutation was usually uttered, he said, “May the Force be with you.”

Siri felt a chill run down her spine, but she smiled tightly and nodded back. “And also with you, Masters.”

* * *

Siri hadn’t been down to this level since before she’d left the Temple on her extended assignment with Krayn. She was careful to keep her expression neutral as she leaned against the wall, folding her arms over chest. There were numerous Initiates and Padawans milling about in the halls on this level, where most of the classrooms were, and Siri’s heart ached as she saw certain Initiates giving her hopeful, assessing looks. She knew what that meant, and how close to the age-out limit they probably were.

But _fuck,_ she was _not_ ready for a Padawan. She was barely comfortable being back in the Temple as it was--she hadn’t even _unpacked_ her things, the boxes still stacked up in the Knight’s quarters she’d been assigned. Although, honestly, she’d slept on Master Adi’s couch more nights than not since her old Master had come back to Coruscant. Which just further served to prove her point--she was _so not ready_ for a Padawan. How and why Obi-Wan had taken on Anakin so young, Siri just couldn’t understand. Master Jinn or Master Windu would’ve seen to his training, she was sure.

So she ignored their half-hopeful, half-mournful gazes and stared at the door to the classroom she stood across the hall from, waiting for the class to end. Finally, the door slid open, and the Senior Padawans began filing out. Several of them nodded deeply to her, others pausing to bow, and Siri just grinned and waved at them, wiggling her fingers and smirking as Quinlan often did.

Her quarry was the last to emerge from the room, and Siri frowned. Padawan Ventress… didn’t look good. She’d always been on the slender side, but now her cheeks were starting to look sunken, her pale skin going even paler, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She caught sight of Siri and froze for a moment before bowing.

“Knight Tachi.”

“With me, Padawan,” Siri ordered, jerking her head. Ventress nodded, but said nothing, falling into step just behind and to the side of Siri, the proper place for a Padawan beside a Knight or Master. Siri rolled her eyes and reached back to grab her arm, gently pulling her into step at her side. Ventress wouldn’t look at her. “Is your Master in the Temple right now?”

“Yes.”

Siri nodded slowly. “What’s his comm code?” Ventress blinked at her, finally glancing her way, and then looked back down at the floor as she gave it. Siri pulled out her own comm and punched it in, waiting for him to pick up.

“ _Narec_.”

“Master Narec, this is Siri Tachi. Your Padawan just finished her last class for the day, yes?”

“ _Ah, yes. Advanced Mechanics._ ”

“Right. She’s here with me, and I wondered if you wouldn’t mind me taking her off your hands for the rest of the day,” Siri said.

“ _Ah,_ ” Narec said again. “ _For that… special project you’re working on?_ ” Ventress flinched, and Siri pursed her lips.

“Yes.”

“ _Very well. Asajj, please comm me in a few hours if you’re going to be out late._ ”

Ventress scowled, but her voice was perfectly polite as she answered, “Yes, Master.”

“ _Thank you, little one. Knight Tachi._ ”

Siri smiled gently at the endearment. “Master Narec.” With that, she disconnected the call and replaced her comm on her belt. Ventress said nothing further, and the two of them walked in silence back to Siri’s quarters. Asajj looked around as they entered, taking in the bare walls, empty shelves, and the boxes in the corner. Siri sighed. “Yeah, it’s been a bit… busy, lately. Not a lot of time to unpack. You want caff, or tea?”

“Plain caff, thank you.” Siri nodded and waved a hand for Asajj to sit down on the couch while she made her third thermos of caff for the day. Perhaps she ought to cut back--but not today. She had too much to do today. Fixing another for Ventress, she returned to the living room and set them both down on the low table.

“Now, you know why you’re here.” Ventress nodded, still not meeting her eyes. Siri frowned. “...are you okay?”

Ventress scowled and picked up her thermos. She shrugged and moved to unscrew the cap. “I will be.”

“Tholme said you learned something about yourself,” Siri prompted. Ventress flinched.

“I… You know Kenobi brought us back to the Temple. Master Ky was… not doing well. He’d been injured, and hadn’t gotten proper treatment,” Ventress explained. It did sound vaguely familiar, and Siri nodded for her to continue. “In that… past life, no one knew where we were. No one came for us, and Master Ky… He died, and I didn’t… handle it well.”

Siri grimaced. “Ah. You Fell.” Ventress nodded sharply. “Well, it’s a good thing you two are in the Temple, then. Ready to get to it?” Ventress finally looked up, her brow furrowed lightly in confusion. Siri gave her a shrug and grabbed a datapad, tossing it to her, and then picking up another. No doubt Ventress expected her to bristle in suspicion and confusion herself, at the prospect of a Fall. But Siri was a Shadow, and she it was her entire _job_ to seek out the Fallen. And besides, Ventress certainly wasn’t Fallen _yet._

For now, she was just a scared, angry kid, for all that she was nearly an adult.

“Where should we start?” Ventress asked, pulling open the file Siri had put together listing everyone in the Senate who had been online during all three breaches they’d been able to track, thanks to Senator Mothma.

Siri hummed. “You heard about the… incident on Naboo, yes? The one that just happened this morning?” Ventress scowled, but nodded. Siri wasn’t fooled by the girl’s standoffishness--there was _concern_ dripping from her in the Force, and she grinned. “They’re all fine, from what I heard. But looking at what the Sith attack on Naboo means, what can it tell us about the breaches?”

Ventress frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Siri snorted. “Not at all. You want to be a Shadow. Show me you can think like one.” She waved one hand and sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Ventress went back to scowling, which seemed to be her default expression.

“Naboo is important to the Sith,” Ventress said. “This is the second time they’ve acted there. I know Kenobi has been looking for traces of them, but on Naboo, they’ve gone out of their way to make their presence publicly known--and if this was _only_ about Kenobi, then they would _probably_ have made other public appearance surrounding him, but they haven’t. Only on Naboo have they revealed themselves.”

“Exactly,” Siri said, nodding. “So Naboo is important to the Sith. So even if this isn’t strictly related to Obi-Wan, how can that help _us_ figure out who wants to slice Obi-Wan’s files? Other than you.” Ventress grimaced, but Siri just winked at her. Ventress actually _blushed,_ which was… sort of adorable, and Siri laughed, shaking her head.

Ventress rolled her eyes and then glanced down at the datapad. “This is the most recent breach?”

“Yes.”

“That was only a week ago--well after Naboo left the Republic. They wouldn’t have had anyone in the Senate--and I’m assuming some due diligence on your part, vetting everyone on the list to make sure they aren’t plants from Naboo,” Ventress said, and Siri grinned, pleased.

“Never assume someone else has done the job even in part,” Siri said, and Ventress nodded. “That is where we would start, but I _have_ actually already done that for us. So what next?”

“We look at everyone who is connected to Naboo in other ways,” she said. “This _has_ to be about Naboo, and the Sith--why else would anyone be interested in Kenobi’s file specifically? He was heavily involved in both incidents, and for them to continue slicing instead of just doing so _once_ means they’re looking for information updates, rather than, say, one particular mission report. That supports the idea that the breaches aren’t just about _Kenobi,_ but _are_ related to the search for the Sith, and therefore, information about Naboo, which we already established is important to the Sith.”

Siri smiled. “Good. You’re on the right track. So what connections to Naboo can we look for?”

“Anyone who was close to Palpatine before Naboo’s secession--supporting each other’s votes, taking regular meetings, those sorts of indicators,” Ventress said immediately. “And anyone who was against him--voting against his proposals, and his nomination. Those are the most obvious connections. We know that the Sith care about Naboo, but not whether they wanted to force them to secede, or if they _wanted_ Palpatine to become Chancellor.”

She nodded, and Ventress smiled tightly. “You got it. That’s exactly what Master Ti and Master Tholme suggested we look into. Now, I’ll take everyone who supported Palpatine, and Naboo, and you take everyone opposed to them. Make a list of each, and then we’ll cross-reference with the list of everyone signed on, and see if we can’t narrow it down a bit further.”

Ventress nodded and cracked her knuckles. Siri laughed and shook her head. Drawing both legs up beneath her, she got to work on her own datapad.

* * *

They worked for a few hours, Ventress eventually migrating to the floor and spreading flimsi out across the table as she made notes, Siri doing the same in the armchair across from her. They worked in comfortable silence, for the most part, except for quiet little exchanges whenever they needed their thermoses refilled. Distantly, Siri probably thought she was going to hear from Master Narec about the amount of caff she’d fed his Padawan, but it made Ventress smile a little more genuinely, even if it was small. And the girl looked so… _miserable,_ Siri couldn’t resist. _Force,_ she was getting soft, but... She remembered seeing a similar look on Obi-Wan’s face, when they were younger, every time he was told he was _too angry,_ every time Master Jinn rejected him, again and again for _years,_ even after he took him as a Padawan--

Sensing that she needed a break as her thoughts spiralled, Siri stood and stretched her arms up. “Weren’t you supposed to comm your Master?”

Ventress hummed vaguely, and then looked up sharply, her eyes going wide. She dropped her stylus and grabbed for her comm, muttering colorful swears under her breath that made Siri sputter with laughter.

“ _Narec._ ”

“I apologize for comming late, Master. We got a bit caught up,” she said immediately. Master Narec sighed.

“ _I understand, Padawan. Thank you for not making me wait fourteen hours this time._ ” Ventress winced, and Siri _knew_ there was a story there. Wordlessly, she took Ventress’s thermos and her own and went to make more caff, giving the girl at least an illusion of privacy for this conversation.

“Yes, Master. I think I’ll be here rather late tonight,” she said.

“ _Well, tomorrow is your free day. If this is how you choose to spend tonight, and tomorrow, I won’t argue with you. But you must be back tomorrow for our meditation before dinner._ ”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“ _Of course, little one. Try not to scowl too much at Knight Tachi._ ” Siri snorted at that, shaking her head.

“I’m not even going to respond to that, Master,” Ventress grumbled, and then hung up. When Siri returned to the living room, her comm was resting on the couch behind her, looking like it had been carelessly thrown there, upturned so the screen faced down into the cushions, and Ventress was holding a piece of flimsi in both hands, frowning at it. She paused, and then picked up another, and then another. “I have a theory.”

“Oh?” Siri said, and Ventress nodded slowly.

“What if the six Jedi weren’t the only ones who remembered another life?” she asked. Siri froze, a thermos still in each hand.

“Interesting question. What made you think of it?” Siri asked after a moment, setting one thermos down in front of Asajj before settling back into her chair.

“There are too many of the same names coming up,” Ventress said, and then shook her head. “The Senators who opposed Senator Palpatine’s election are Senators who were mostly in the Trade Federation’s corner--which is to be expected. But there were a few who voted against Palpatine while still opposing the Trade Federation. And some of them… A few are names I recognize, from what the holocron told me.”

Siri raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Who?”

“Senator Bail Organa, of Alderaan; Junior Senator Mon Mothma-- _she_ was quite vocal, especially for a Junior Senator, about her condemnation of the Trade Federation; and Senatorial aide Riyo Chuchi-- _also_ incredibly vocal and active, especially for someone without any actual votes,” Ventress said. “Those were three of the major players in the war, last time around, all on the side of the Republic. If _they_ remembered as well, it would explain why they voted against Palpatine, because they would realize that Naboo is important to the Sith, and likely know what that connection actually is. I’ve looked at some of the chatter about Palpatine, from before the election, and the sympathy vote was strong. He _should_ have won, but there was a strong campaign against him, in the week between the Vote of No Confidence and the election. Someone managed to dredge up old records implicating him in the death of his father, though nothing was ever concrete enough to take to trial. Still, it was enough to put an end to his hopes for the Chancellorship.”

“...huh,” Siri said. She laughed. “That’s damn good work, Padawan. I can, at least, confirm that Senator Mothma had the same… experience our Jedi did.”

Ventress blinked, and then her lips twitched in another one of those barely-there smiles. “So you think I’m right about the other two.”

“Possibly,” Siri said, shrugging. “But they’re good leads. And I can definitely see why Bail Organa would want to slice into Obi-Wan’s file, even if he _didn’t_ have a vision of the future. They’re good friends, and Obi-Wan tends to worry his friends.”

Ventress snorted. “And his Padawan,” she muttered. She shook her head. “I can only think of a few possibilities, for why the Sith would be interested in Naboo. Queen Amidala became very important to the Republic as Senator Amidala, trying to _end_ the war, so it’s possible that the Sith wanted to force Naboo out of the Republic to get her out of the way. But that would suggest that the Sith _also_ remember, which is…”

“Terrifying,” Siri said flatly. Ventress grimaced and nodded. Siri waved a hand for her to continue.

“Or,” Ventress said, laying the flimsi down on the table again before fixing Siri with a hard stare, “Palpatine is a Sith.”

Siri blinked, and opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, she took a large swig of her caff, wishing it had a bit of whiskey in it, and shook her head. “What makes you say that?”

“It makes sense,” Siri said with a shrug. “If others remember what happened last time, which we know at least Senator Mothma does, and Palpatine _is_ the Sith, then they would realize that. They would never have let him win this election, and when Palpatine realized that he wasn’t going to win, he decided to take the side of the Separatists in the war and pushed for Naboo to leave the Republic, since he’d have a better chance of seizing power if he helps construct a separate government than trying another run at Chancellor.”

“...huh. You’re… not wrong,” Siri said slowly. “That’s… We should take this to Tholme. Now. We have another Jedi on Naboo, and he might be able to look into this for us.”

Ventress narrowed her eyes. “...now? And what do you mean _we?_ ”

Siri frowned. “Yes, _now._ This is important, and it’s _your_ theory. You know more about the visions than I do--I wouldn’t have been able to put that together.”

“...oh,” Ventress sighed. Siri raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin crossing her face.

“You’re scared of Tholme.”

Ventress glared at her. “It’s not that.”

“It’s okay, kiddo. I know he’s intimidating, but--”

Ventress rolled her eyes, her lip curling. “It’s because he knows that some other future version of his own Padawan literally _Fell_ for me. That’s… uncomfortable.”

Siri’s mouth snapped shut. _Quinlan? Quinlan Vos?_

She grimaced. Quinlan Falling--she could see it. The thought hurt like all _Hel,_ but she could see it. But… Falling for _love?_ With _Padawan Ventress?_

The Padawan rolled her eyes again and gathered her flimsi, stacking it neatly and snatching up the datapad, fixing Siri with a pointed _look._

Siri huffed, shaking her head. “I wish Vos remembered it all, then. That would be _such_ great blackmail material.”

Ventress barked a startled laugh, and Siri grinned as she rose. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Tholme stared at them, seated in the chairs before his desk, Ventress’s notes spread out before him as he peered at her tidy writing and listened to her speculation.

Finally, when she finished, he stared at her for a long moment, and then he laughed. “You’re sharp, Padawan, I’ll give you that,” he said, and leaned back in his seat. “And we got confirmation just a few weeks ago: Organa ‘remembers’ as well.”

Siri frowned. “How did we only just learn that a few _weeks_ ago? Isn’t he good friends with Obi-Wan? Did he remember later than the others?”

Tholme barked a laugh. “Yes, they are good friends, and no, he ‘remembered’ from the same point everyone else did. According to Obi-Wan, after they had it out about this, they were both trying so hard not to say anything suspicious that they neatly steered each other away from something that might have been too telling. His wife, the Queen of Alderaan, remembers as well.” He turned back to Ventress. “Good work, Padawan.”

Ventress straightened and nodded slowly. “So you think that Riyo Chuchi might also?”

“At this point, we aren’t seeing any _pattern_ to the people who remember, and those who don’t,” Tholme hummed. “So it’s entirely possible.”

“And… Palpatine?” Ventress asked. Tholme sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll take what you’ve said under advisement, but I can’t tell you anything about that branch of the investigation,” Tholme said. “That’s a very dangerous game, and one that the Council is taking great care with.” Ventress scowled, but nodded. “You did well, Padawan.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“You want her to keep helping?” Tholme asked, directing the question to Siri, who nodded.

“She’s good at it, and her knowing more about the vision has actually _helped_ ,” Siri said. “And I still have the fresh eyes that Master Ti wanted, since I don’t know many of the details. I can double check her theories to make sure they’re logically sound, and not just based on some vague knowledge of what happened… ‘last time.’”

Tholme shook his head slowly. “Since it seems Padawan Ventress can handle this investigation,” he said slowly, “I’m pulling you back off of it. Master Windu, Master Dooku, and Vosa will be arriving the day after tomorrow. I want you to handle her interrogation.”

“...oh,” Siri said, and she nodded. “Of course.”

Tholme nodded and turned back to Ventress. “Before you take any _action,_ speak to me first. Don’t question anyone, don’t slice into any files. Basic datawork _only,_ for now. Am I clear?”

“...yes, Master.”

Tholme smiled at her. “Good. If you need access to any information for further research, do the sensible thing and _ask me_ for it. As long as you can explain why you need it, I’ll get you what you need.”

Ventress nodded slowly. “Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“As for you…” Tholme turned back to Siri, his gaze heavy, considering. “I suggest you spend the next day or so meditating. You’ll want your equilibrium, when they bring Vosa back.”

Siri nodded and resisted the urge to scowl. _That_ wasn’t ominous at all.

* * *

Siri waited with Tholme as the shuttle landed. They had cleared the hangar of the civilian Temple staff and the usual gaggle of Padawans and Knights, though the two of them were far from alone. She had counted twenty Temple Guards ringing the hangar, blocking the various exits. Master Windu had told them that they still had Vosa sedated, but they were taking no chances.

Master Windu was first to exit the shuttle, and Siri inspected him quietly. He seemed alright, though his tunics were singed in several places, and there was a still-healing burn above his eye. It looked as though it had already seen bacta treatments, though, and there seemed to be no damage to the eye itself. Master Dooku was next, and he looked… significantly worse. There were no visible injuries, but the look on his face was…

He looked so _lost,_ Siri thought. She didn’t know him well, but she knew Obi-Wan had come to accept him as part of his little family, and she’d seen Master Dooku interacting with Anakin. He clearly cared, and so for his own _Padawan_ to join the ranks of the Sith and then attack him… That must _hurt._

The two Masters stopped a few feet from them, and Siri and Tholme bowed. They nodded back wearily.

“I’m glad to see you both well,” Tholme said. Master Dooku quirked an eyebrow at that, and Tholme just sighed and shook his head. “She’s on the ship?”

“We gave her enough sedatives to put down a rancor,” Master Windu sighed. “She shouldn’t come around for another few hours, at least.”

“Good. I’ll comm Master Che, then, and we’ll get her moved to the secure level.” He turned and walked a few feet away, pulling the comm off his belt.

“Everyone’s alright?” Siri asked. Master Windu gave her a knowing smile.

“Yes. Obi-Wan was the worst off--he gave himself a case of Force exhaustion, healing Vosa, but his Padawan fixed that quickly. The Queen, the delegates--they’re all fine. There were only a few casualties among the native peoples,” he told her. Siri nodded slowly.

“Master Tholme wants me to take point with Vosa,” Siri said, directing her attention now to Master Dooku. He frowned at her. “I’m someone familiar, but not someone she really _knows._ ” Not someone she hated, Siri didn’t say. He heard it anyway, she thought, but he nodded. “This is going to be massively uncomfortable, Master, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m going to need you to tell me everything you can about her.”

“Very well,” he agreed tonelessly. Siri smiled tightly at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few of the Temple Guards striding forward, two on either side of Master Che.

“What did you give her?” she asked as soon as she was within earshot.

Master Windu snorted. “The cocktail we usually reserve for Obi-Wan.”

“Ah,” Master Che sighed, and tapped something on a datapad. “How long ago was the last dose?”

“Nine hours ago. She seems to come out of it around the same timeline he does.” And _why,_ Siri wondered, did they have a special sedative for Obi-Wan? And why had they used it often enough to know _exactly_ how long it worked to keep him under?

 _Why_ was it _always_ Obi-Wan?

“I’ll check her vitals, and then we’ll move her,” Master Che said to the Temple Guards beside her. They bowed their heads, but said nothing in return. WIth that, Master Che disappeared into the shuttle, leaving them in tense silence as they waited. A few minutes later, the Temple Guards emerged, two on each side of a hoverbed, now, Vosa limp and pale, stretched out on it.

Force, she didn’t look much older than Siri was. Master Dooku couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her, expression blank. Siri wondered what that must have been like, waking up to realize that one of his best friends had skewered his now-Sith ex-Padawan, only for his Grand-Padawan to have given himself a case of Force exhaustion just to save her. She felt a little flare of sympathy, and brushed against his presence in the Force. He stiffened, and then looked at her, giving her a tight smile in thanks. Siri smiled back.

The Temple Guard left the hangar, eight more of them following, and Siri wondered if that much security was overkill. She was drugged unconscious, after all. What harm could she really do?

“She’s well enough, physically,” Master Che sighed. “Obi-Wan did a good job with the healing--not that I would’ve expected any less, looking at Qui-Gon. And one lung and a set of ribs is far easier to heal than the mess that was Qui-Gon’s stomach. She’ll likely have some reduced function in that lung, but nothing drastic. She’ll recover.”

“Thank you, Master Che,” Master Windu said, nodding. She pursed her lips at him, her lekku curling in displeasure.

“She’s fine to go to her assigned room downstairs,” Master Che declared, “but the two of you are going to come with me for a full check-up.”

“I can assure you that that will not be necessary--”

“I have had just about enough of your lineage avoiding my Halls,” she snapped. “You _will_ come with me, or I will give you a hypo filled with _twice_ the dose of sedatives I usually give your Grand-Padawan when he is being recalcitrant.”

Master Dooku glowered, but nodded sharply. Siri suppressed the urge to giggle and instead straightened up, pushing her shoulders back and catching his gaze.

“Once you’ve been released, we’ll talk,” she said. He nodded, looking resigned.

Master Che smiled pleasantly and nodded to them. Brightly, she said, “Shall we?”

Siri held Master Dooku’s gaze just a moment longer and smirked. She jerked her head towards Master Che, and behind the woman’s back, clearly mouthed “ _Good luck._ ” Master Dooku raised an eyebrow, but she heard Master Windu snort, and she grinned at both of them.

* * *

 _Every_ youngling, at some point, went to Master Yoda’s rooms. Whether it was in a group for an informal lesson (and seriously _terrible_ tea that tasted like tree bark and had the consistency of mud--seriously, what _was he_ and where did his people even _come from_ to make them think _that_ tasted good _?_ ), or individual counsel, they all knew where the Order’s Grand-Master kept his rooms, and they’d all been there.

For Siri, it hadn’t been all _that_ long since she’d been there. Master Yoda had summoned her before she accepted the mission with Krayn. Over cups of that terrible tea, Yoda had given her a wide-eyed look, his ears pricked up.

“Sometimes, leave us, our Knights must, if the Will of the Force it is,” he had told her. “If the Will of the Force this feels like, accept, you should. Strength enough for this, you have. And welcome home, you will be again.”

Three days later, Siri had had an explosive, public “argument” with Master Adi and “fled” the Temple.

She wasn’t entirely certain why he’d summoned her _now,_ as she was waiting for Master Dooku to be released from the Halls to give her a briefing on his former Padawan, but Siri wasn’t about to refuse a personal summons from Master Yoda of all people. So, just after dinner, she palmed the door chime and waited for him to answer.

“Come, come!” he called from inside, the door swishing open. Siri stepped and smiled at the unchanged rooms--well, largely unchanged. There were still large piles of multi-colored cushions--many of them, she knew, made for him by his former Padawans and other members of his various lineages--rather than a couch and chairs, many of them grouped around the low circular table; the shelves were still filled with strange trinkets; there was still incense burning, giving the rooms a sharp but comforting smell; the curtains still remained pulled back, and the windows open.

“This is new,” Siri murmured, smiling as she looked at the one wall that had been covered entirely in art clearly made by the younglings.

“Out of space, they ran, in the Committee room,” Yoda said, sounding amused as he approached her. “Sad, the younglings were. Another gallery, I gave them.” Siri laughed brightly and turned to bow to him. He nodded back, and then reached out with his stick to tap one of her boots. “My rules, you know.”

Siri nodded and pulled off her boots, turning back to leave them beside the door. Master Yoda nodded approvingly and pointed his stick to the table. They each took a cushion, and Master Yoda blinked slowly at her, his ears rising and falling again.

“Good, it is, that home, you are,” he hummed. Siri smiled.

“Thank you, Master. I’m glad to be back.”

“ _Hmph._ Are you? Settled in, you have not,” he said, one ear raised as a human might raise an eyebrow. Then he sighed and shook his head. “But time, you will have. On Coruscant, you are needed, and will be needed.” Siri bowed her head in acceptance, feeling a little flash of _relief._ Some time back in the Temple really would be… nice. For a while, anyway--Siri knew that, sooner or later, she would grow restless.

The door chimed again, and Yoda smiled. “Come!”

Siri looked up as Master Dooku came through the door, holding a wooden box. He nodded to her, and Siri stood to bow. She couldn’t quite hide her smile as she sat back down and watched Master Dooku pull off his own boots. Somehow, the image of the imposing Master down to his socks while he still wore his full robes was… a little funny. Master Dooku raised an eyebrow at her, and Siri flushed, but did not look away. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

Wordlessly, he joined them at the table, setting the box down beside him. Opening it, he drew out a bottle of brandy that Siri just _knew_ was expensive, and three glasses, pouring for each of them before distributing the drinks.

“It would be best,” Master Dooku began slowly, staring at his glass as he gently swirled the brandy, “if I am not involved in Komari’s… questioning. Therefore, I will give you all of the pertinent information you may need.”

Siri nodded slowly. So _this_ was why they were doing this here--no doubt Master Yoda was here in support of his former Padawan. The thought was… sweet, and she smiled slightly.

“Thank you, Master. I’m sure it must be… difficult to talk about,” she said gently. Master Dooku smiled tightly, his eyes flashing with some unnameable emotion.

“Komari leaving the Order is, perhaps, going to be the _least_ painful part of this discussion,” he said flatly, and took a large swallow of his drink. Master Yoda matched him, and after a moment, Siri did as well. Master Dooku took a measured breath. “As I’m certain you already knew, Komari was my Padawan when we were sent to Galidraan. She was eighteen, at the time--considered old enough for battle both by the Order and by the Mandalorians. She wasn’t just an _observer,_ on Galidraan. She killed eighteen of them herself.” Siri shivered, and grimaced.

“And when the truth came out…”

Master Dooku inclined his head. “Yes. She did not handle it well. She lost faith--in the Senate, the Order, and in herself. She left not long after that.” He paused to take another drink, Master Yoda and Siri matching him again, and then he shook his head, staring down into his glass. “But there… is some indication that she recalls what happened _last_ time.”

Siri blinked. “Oh. That’s…” She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “And you’re also one of them? The six Jedi?”

“Yes.” He downed the rest of his glass, and Master Yoda followed suit. After a moment, Siri did as well, and there was silence as Master Dooku refilled their glasses. “This explanation will require some background. In that time, Obi-Wan was unable to save Qui-Gon. He did defeat Darth Maul, but his body and lightsaber fell down the reactor core. With the lack of tangible evidence of the Dark Side, the Council refused to admit to the Sith’s return.” Master Dooku paused to drink again. Siri idly wondered if Master Yoda was filtering at least some of the alcohol--he was so _small,_ such strong liquor surely would be having an effect. But he looked just as calm as ever, though his ears were low, his eyes downcast as he listened.

“I believed that the Sith had returned,” Master Dooku continued, “and refused to end my search despite the explicit orders of the Council. Not long after the events on Naboo, I left the Order myself.”

Siri frowned. A rogue Master whose first Padawan had died at the hands of the Sith and whose second Padawan had left the Order after a massacre ordered by the Senate and mindlessly enacted by the Jedi? And he was actively searching for the Sith?

“You Fell,” she said, and he nodded slowly, finally meeting her gaze. He looked… tired. There were shadows in his eyes, old regrets and grief, but… no yellow, no gold, no amber--none of the various shades that spoke of the Darkness burning its way through them.

“I took Maul’s place, as the Sith Lord’s apprentice. Komari’s death was the price I paid for admission into their ranks, though her death was not my Sacrifice--that came later.”

Siri blinked at him, and then knocked back the rest of her drink in one go, distantly aware of Master Dooku and Master Yoda following suit. She slid her empty glass forward in a silent request for more, and Master Dooku slowly refilled them all.

“Well, fuck,” she finally said. Master Dooku snorted, though Master Yoda narrowed his eyes at her in silent warning. Siri took another bracing drink, then grimaced. “And you think she remembers that.”

Master Dooku nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He hesitated momentarily before answering. “Before she lost consciousness, at the end of the fighting on Naboo, she apparently said something to Obi-Wan that would indicate she was trying to warn him about me. And there is a more… telling indicator. Those of us who met violent ends bear those scars.”

Siri blinked, and then grimaced. “Ah. And you recognize a scar she has.”

Master Dooku grimaced and drank, Master Yoda along with him. Siri did not, and Master Yoda prodded at her with his stick.

“Impolite, it is, not to drink. Match each other, we must,” he said. Siri raised an eyebrow, but drank. He nodded at her in satisfaction before turning back to Master Dooku. Out of the same wooden box, he pulled out a datapad, flicking it on and sliding it over to her. Siri frowned down at it: it was a picture of Komari’s neck, and on either side were silvery-white scars, barely visible with her skin as pale as it was. She frowned and zoomed in--those looked like…

“Handprints?” Siri murmured.

“Yes.”

She glanced up. “So you… strangled her, last time.” And what a bizarre fucking sentence _that_ was. Siri felt a headache coming on, and pursed her lips.

“...yes. Though I used the Force, it seems to have expressed itself as… well.” He cut himself off, grimacing again and gesturing a hand vaguely towards the datapad. Siri nodded slowly.

“Alright. So when, exactly, did she die last time?” Siri asked, powering down the datapad and sliding it back over. “How much will she actually remember of the last timeline?”

“She has already outlived her previous life.”

“Ah. Why do you think she warned Obi-Wan?” Siri asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. She could think of a number of reasons, and they were either very good signs, or terrible ones.

“She believed she was dying,” Master Dooku said slowly. “She would have, had it not been for Obi-Wan healing her injuries. For her to use her last breath to warn him… She was either attempting to form a rift between the Order and myself, or genuinely warning us for the greater good.”

And Siri didn’t want to kill that hope, she _really_ didn’t, but… “Then why would she have allied with the Sith?”

Master Dooku frowned. “I would _hope_ that her reasons would be similar to my own, the last time I made such a… grave error,” he said. Siri raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, but said nothing. “I decided that if the Council and the Order would not acknowledge the Sith, and work against them, then I must act on my own. But one man against an empire that has stood, and grown, in secret for over a thousand years would never succeed--not from the outside.”

Siri hummed. “I see. So you joined them in the hopes of killing the Sith Master, which is every Sith’s end goal _anyway,_ ” she said. “I can see how it was a slippery slope, from there.” Master Dooku blinked at her, likely questioning her easy acceptance, and Siri shrugged. “But, if she _does_ remember… We have to look at the possibility that she just wanted revenge against _you._ ”

Master Dooku grimaced. “A distinct possibility, though I would not begrudge her such feelings if that is the case.”

She sighed, and shook her head. “Thank you, Master Dooku. This should be enough to go on for now.”

“Our drinks, we must finish,” Master Yoda said. “Lighter things, we have to discuss, hmm? Speaking of Padawans past, we have been. Speak of Padawans _future_ we must, also.”

Master Dooku paled. “I’m quite certain that I cannot take another apprentice.”

Yoda gave him a _look,_ eyes narrowed and ears twitching, before he let out another _hmph._ “See, we will, if true, that is. In time--yes, in time. But speaking of you, I was not.” He looked to Siri, who felt the blood drain from her face just as Master Dooku’s had. She _knew_ what happened when Master Yoda had an apprentice picked out for you--just look at Obi-Wan. Master Jinn had been so _determined_ never to take another Padawan, and then Master Yoda had schemed and plotted until the man finally relented.

“Master, I’m far too young for that, and I’ve only just gotten back to the Temple--”

“ _Listen_ to your elders, you used to,” Master Yoda cut her off, and Siri wilted. Master Dooku shot her a sympathetic glance. “A boy there is, in the creche. Nearly too old, he is. Meet him, you should.”

“...yes, Master.”

“And to the _Force, listen_ also, when meet him, you do.”

“...of course, Matser.”

Master Yoda grinned broadly, seemingly satisfied, and nodded, picking up his drink. “Raising a Padawan… A great joy, it is. A great pain, also.” Siri laughed, startled, and Master Dooku sighed. “Stories, I have, if time, _you_ have.”

Siri grinned toothily at Master Dooku, who, at least, looked _miffed_ instead of drained, now, and then looked back to Master Yoda. “I think I’d like that, Master.”

* * *

Master Yoda told Siri stories not only about Master Dooku’s apprenticeship, but about several of his other Padawans--some of whom were the now-deceased Masters and Grand-Masters of Knights Siri knew. It was the perfect balm to the tension earlier in the evening, as Master Yoda’s anecdotes seemed even funnier with his backwards manner of speech. Finally, when it had grown rather late, and the three of them had worked their way through the bottle of brandy, the little Master’s eyes began to blink more rapidly, his ears falling, and he shook his head, cutting off his last story--a shame, since Siri would’ve _loved_ to hear how he ended up stranded with Master H’ree--then _Padawan_ H’ree, but this had, apparently, been over fifty years ago--on Kashyyyk for six months without someone _realizing_ where they were.

“Drink often, I do not,” Master Yoda said. “Sleep now, I must. Sleep, you both should.” With that, he unceremoniously curled up on his small pile of cushions and closed his eyes.

Siri looked up at Master Dooku, who simply shook his head. Wordlessly, he rose and disappeared into Master Yoda’s bedroom and returned with a small blanket, clearly handmade in bright purple and green yarn. He bent down to drape it over his old Master, patting one of his clawed hands as it instinctively reached for the blanket to pull it more tightly around him in his sleep, and Siri frowned.

It wasn’t that she _doubted_ what Master Dooku had told her, but… she just couldn’t picture it.

Shaking her head, she tried to be as quiet as possible as she collected her boots, not bothering to put them back on, and waited for Master Dooku to follow her. Once they were out in the hall, she turned to him.

“I’m starting with Komari first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “If you’d like to observe, I won’t stop you, as long as you promise not to interfere.”

Master Dooku blinked at her, and then nodded slowly. “Thank you.” He hesitated for the slightest of seconds, and then asked, “You seem to be placing a great deal of faith in someone you now know is a reformed Lord of the Sith.”

Siri snorted. “‘Reformed’ is right, I think,” she said. “Look, you… I can tell that you aren’t Dark, now. That much is obvious. And Obi-Wan knows _everything_ about… then, and he trusts you enough to leave you alone with his Padawan. That’s good enough for me.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Thank you.”

Master Dooku ventured a smile, and though he still looked sad, and a bit lost, there was a _Lightness_ to him that made Siri smile back. They parted ways, and she was halfway back to her quarters when she realized what _else_ had been there, in his expression: _hope._

* * *

The room that they had given Vosa was fairly pleasant, Siri thought idly as she watched the former-Jedi lay on the bed, motionless, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. They had given her Force-suppresants--just enough to dull her senses, not enough to cut her off entirely, as Master Che had warned them that would slow her healing to the point of being detrimental--so they were assured she could not act out with it, and there were always two members of the Temple Guard in the monitor room, and two more just outside her door, so if she made any attempt to harm herself, they would be able to stop her before she met any success. So they had given her comforts they would have otherwise had to take away: the bed was soft, with fluffy pillows and heavy blankets, to combat the persistent _chill_ of the lower levels, and the attached ‘fresher had no camera in it, though she received a warning sound if she stayed in there longer than two minutes at a time, and after three minutes, someone would be sent to check on her--and there was even a mirror (behind which they had hidden their camera; Vosa had yet to look at herself, however), and a chair beside the bed that wasn’t bolted to the floor. A datapad--without a wireless chip, rendering it incapable of connecting to the ‘Net, even if she sliced it, had been set on the bedside table, several holonovels already loaded, but she had yet to use it.

She had yet to do _anything_ , actually, other than lay there, motionless, but awake, on the bed, staring at the blank ceiling.

Siri sighed and looked up at Master Dooku, who was standing behind the two Temple Guards, arms folded over his chest as he stared, expressionless, at the monitor. Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her, and she smiled tightly at him and nodded. He nodded back, and Siri left the room, heading for the door beside it. Two more Temple Guards stood on either side of it, and she nodded at them, expecting no response and getting none. She pressed her hand to the scanner on the door, and it clicked open.

Vosa didn’t move, didn’t react at all, as Siri entered and went to sit down in the chair beside the bed. Siri hummed thoughtfully.

“You hungry?” she asked. Vosa turned her head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look, it’s a valid question. You were out for four full days with only an IV for fluids, and since we’ve reduced your Force sense, I know you can’t be using it to push away your physical needs. So, are you hungry?”

Vosa huffed and shrugged one shoulder. “Not my main concern right now, little Jedi.”

Siri nodded. “Then what is?”

“Why is Dooku still walking freely around this Temple?” she asked flatly. “ _He’s_ the Sith here.”

Siri raised an eyebrow. “And you aren’t?”

Vosa scoffed. “No.”

“But you do use the Dark Side of the Force.”

Vosa scowled. “As if the Jedi Order has any right to lecture on the nature of Light and Dark anymore,” she said. “Whether you realize it or _not,_ the Order has been manipulated for _hundreds_ of years. _You_ have been making the galaxy a ‘Darker’ place. You’re engineering your own downfall.”

Siri hummed thoughtfully. “What do you care?”

Vosa blinked, apparently not having expected that response. Good. “What?”

“What do you care? What does it matter to you, if your former Master is a Sith? You already use the Dark Side, and you were fighting with other Sith--”

“ _They_ were _not_ Sith,” Vosa growled.

“Then what were they?” Siri asked. “Hands?”

Vosa frowned. “How do you know that title?”

“A concerned citizen gave us an anonymous tip on our ‘report-a-Sith hotline.’ How do you think? One of them told us,” Siri said, rolling her eyes, and Vosa snorted. For the first time, she sat up, and the light caught the scars around Vosa’s throat, like fingers. Siri shivered. “You care because he killed you, before. Didn’t he?”

Vosa froze, staring at her. Finally, she shook her head. “They were Acolytes. Not Sith--they were hoping to be chosen as the next apprentice.”

Siri smiled. “Thank you for clarifying. Did you join them on Naboo because you wanted to become a Sith apprentice, or because you wanted a crack at your old Master?”

Vosa huffed an almost-laugh. “Definitely the latter. I couldn’t give less of a shit about the Sith, or the Jedi anymore. I have a life of my own, now.”

“Yes, running a cult-slash-criminal syndicate is very time consuming,” Siri said. “But the datawork is such a drag. Nobody warns you when you get into drug manufacturing that there’s going to be so many _forms_ to fill out.”

Again, Vosa just stared at her, and then she laughed. “You’re the bitch who screwed over Krayn, aren’t you?” she asked. “I heard about that. Thought it was far too convenient. Definitely sounded like Shadow work, to anyone who knew what to look for.”

Siri shrugged, still grinning at her. “Might’ve been. Neither confirm nor deny, you know the drill.” Vosa nodded, smiling back for just a moment, but there was still _something_ in her eyes…

 _Fear._ What was she afraid of? It didn’t seem like she was _afraid_ of Master Dooku--angry with him, certainly, and perhaps she hated him, but that was to be expected, given what the two of them remembered. The Sith?

“I don’t think you’re some sort of… heartless murderer and torturer, Komari,” Siri said. “And there’s something I need your help with.”

Vosa shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t tell you who he is.”

“Plagueis?” Vosa nodded. “That’s not what I was going to ask. There was a little girl, Trilla Suduri, on Naboo. Very Force-sensitive. She was meant to leave with the Jedi, to come to the Temple. But during the attack, her parents were killed. She’s now missing, and I think we both know what happened to her.” Vosa grimaced. “Please, if you tell me nothing else, tell me this: do you know where she is?”

Vosa stared at her for a long moment, their eyes locked together, Siri barely even breathing, trying to stay as still as possible. Finally, Vosa sighed.

“No,” she said. “I have no idea where she is. I didn’t know anything about a youngling before now--she wasn’t part of the plan we were given. Not that I’d expect a Sith to share everything with his underlings. He’s… paranoid.”

Siri sighed. “You have nothing for us? Nowhere we could even check?”

Vosa hesitated, and she knew that Siri saw it. She grimaced. “There’s… one place, I’ve heard of. But it’s all just rumors and old stories.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Siri said. “Please. You know what they’re probably doing to her.”

Vosa licked her lips and looked down at the floor. “It’s a place in the Carrion sector. They call it Sojourn, or the Hunter’s Moon.”


	22. Padme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is the first chapter that feels incomplete and just "off" to me at the end, like there should have been more. Padme is a character that tends to have a lot happening, but when she's done "speaking" to me, she's just done, LOL! So her chapters tend to be shorter. I will resolve the mysteries presented in this chapter, I promise!
> 
> ***IMPORTANT WARNING - PLEASE READ BEFORE THE CHAPTER***  
> One of my dear reviewers brought up the trigger warning of parent/child separation in a previous chapter, and I want to address that. There is a small line that actually describes the actual kidnapping, and Mrs. Suduri's death. If you think this would trigger you, I've put bold asterisks before and after that line--please feel free to skip it. It's not massively important to the plot, just the characters confirming what we already suspected/knew. Still, I put a summary of what was said in that line in far less detail in the end chapter note. If you think that discussion may be triggering for you, please skip it. I promise you won't miss too much. :)

Padme knew that Captain Panaka was less than pleased with her plan--even if he had not made his displeasure abundantly (if still very politely) clear, she knew him well enough to know that he would hate everything about this course of action. But as Queen, her first duty was to her people, and Jinto Suduri had served her well, and faithfully, right up to the end. It was the least she could do to honor his service and friendship, helping to find his daughter.

(Although, if she were honest with herself--which Padme could not afford _not_ to be--she would admit that there was also a sharp sting of _fear_ urging her on. She did not know much about the Sith, but she had seen Darth Maul up close during the Battle of Theed. She had seen the pure _rage_ and _hate_ in his eyes, the snarl on his tattooed face, and even though she was as Force-sensitive as a rock, the mere sight of him and his red double-lightsaber had sent a chill through her. She would not-- _could not_ \--allow them to turn Trilla into such a creature, harming her and doing such a great disservice to her parents’ memories and everything they stood for. Padme would _not_ allow it.)

And so she dressed in clothing similar to what she’d worn during the invasion, though even more nondescript, a pair of tall boots, pants, and a long coat, her hair tied up in a simple braided bun, and affixed a blaster to her hip. She smiled at Captain Panaka, and sighed as he folded his arms over his chest and simply _stared_ back.

“You’re taking someone with you,” he said, and Padme raised an eyebrow.

“You know who I’m meeting with,” she said. “Do you truly think they wouldn’t keep me safe?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” he said, and then sighed. “But I did concede to your need for subtlety, with this plan. Your escort will be a plain-clothes officer: my nephew, Lieutenant Typho.”

Padme hummed thoughtfully. “He took part in the Battle of Theed, did he not? I recall he was injured rather badly.”

Captain Panaka grinned sharply. “He lost an eye, but he’s still a remarkably good shot. He’ll serve you well, and won’t blow your cover.”

She nodded slowly, and then reached out to squeeze his arm. “You have a project of your own to handle, while I help them search for Trilla.”

Captain Panaka smiled grimly and nodded back. “Of course.” The idea that there was a mole within the palace--most likely within the Royal Advisory Council itself--rankled for both of them, but him especially. Padme had tried to assure him that it was no failure on his part, and that they had found the problem, and would now be able to seek a resolution, but it hadn’t helped much. He seemed to take it as a personal affront, the idea that someone had slipped past him to act against them from within.

“Just… please be careful, Padme,” he murmured, and she smiled.

“I am always careful, Captain.” He looked skeptical, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking her head, she made for the palace hangar.

Lieutenant Typho was waiting for her, dressed in simple red tunics that, while still having a decidedly military flair, would serve to allow him to pass as a member of the general public. He was leaning against a speeder, arms folded over his chest, and he nodded deeply as he saw her approaching.

“I would bow, but we’re supposed to be playing regular citizens today,” he greeted her, and Padme laughed, offering her hand. He shook it, his grip just as firm as hers.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant. Now, what should I call you in public?”

“Gregar is fine.”

She nodded. “Call me Padme, then.”

He nodded once more and gestured to the speeder. “I promise I renewed my license _after_ I lost the eye,” he teased, and Padme thought he winked at her, but it was hard to tell when he only had one eye. She laughed and shook her head.

“You’re nearly as bad as your uncle,” she murmured. “Very well, then. We must leave immediately--we wouldn’t want to keep our fellow investigators waiting.”

* * *

Quinlan Vos, Jedi Knight, and his Padawan learner, Aayla Secura, were not surprised when she requested a meeting. She strode confidently into the public garden she had asked to meet them in, far enough away from the city center to have been unaffected by the most recent attack against her people, and watched as Vos raised an eyebrow at her. She shook her head minutely as Aayla started to bow, instead coming close enough to shake their hands, Gregar just behind her.

“I am Padme,” she introduced herself, “a friend of the Queen. She wishes to thank you for coming to investigate the disappearance of Trilla Suduri; Gregar and I are here to supplement your efforts. It can only serve to help you, the Queen feels, having a native guide.”

The two Jedi exchanged glances, and then Vos grinned and shrugged.

“Investigating is what we do, m’lady, but we’re always glad of extra help,” he said easily. “Our ship is docked nearby; if you would accompany us there we can speak further.”

Padme nodded and followed them through the garden and down a path to a lift built into the side of the cliff. There were natural caves down below this portion of the city, and they had been turned into hangars and storage areas nearly a century ago. They spoke little as they made their way to the ship, a nondescript light freighter not even bearing the sigil of the Order on it. As they entered, Padme smiled at the interior--everywhere she looked, there were little touches of hominess: there was a curved bench with a table in front of it, and there were pieces of flimsi and datapads scattered over the surface of the table, and one of the doors to a bunk was open, revealing an unmade bed with bright purple sheets. The galley looked well-used, with various spices and knives sitting in easy reach of the counter.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. Aayla, clean that mess up, would you?” Vos said, waving a hand vaguely at the table.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I was working on my final paper for my History of Force Philosophies class.” She quickly grabbed the flimsi, stacking it into a haphazard pile, and the datapads, and threw them onto the bed carelessly, closing the door as she emerged back into the main area.

“Tea? Caff?” Vos offered.

“No, thank you,” Padme declined, too eager to get started. Vos gave her a knowing look and shrugged, sliding into one side of the bench, Secura just after him. Padme sat first, and Gregar after her, boxing her in between himself and Vos, resting one hand on his blaster pistol. Padme had to force down the urge to roll her eyes at him--they were with two _Jedi._ What did he think was going to happen to her? Distantly, she recalled the way that Captain Panaka had insisted on standing guard in the hallway in the Temple itself, and she smiled slightly. Apparently, over-protectiveness ran in their family.

“We have jammers on. It’s safe to speak freely in here,” Secura told them, and Padme nodded.

“We have a new lead on Suduri,” Vos told them, and Padme sat up straighter. “Vosa’s been questioned, and she mentioned someplace in the Carrion sector--a moon called Sojourn.”

Padme frowned. “What, exactly, did she say?”

“She claimed not to have known that they were going after the kid, and not to know anything about where she actually was,” Vos said, a heavy hint of disbelief in his voice. “She said that there was one Sith hideout she knew of, and it was on Sojourn.”

Padme glanced back at Gregar, who was also frowning heavily. She turned back to the Jedi. “This is either a wild kaadu chase based on old intelligence, or a trap.”

“What makes you say that?” Secura asked, tilting her head thoughtfully as she reached up to tug on one of her lekku.

“Sojourn was… rendered uninhabitable several years ago,” Padme told them. “This is… not a part of Naboo’s history of which I am proud, and it’s rarely spoken of. We only know of it because we managed to piece together the few records that were left behind when I began my term. My predecessor, King Veruna, allied himself with… unsavory organizations. They launched a nuclear attack against Sojourn, although the exact reasons are unknown. King Veruna abdicated the throne after accusations of corruption, and disappeared shortly after I took office. We have our theories about who they were seeking to attack on Sojourn; I personally believe he was trying to kill whoever he had colluded with, therefore making the accusations of corruption useless, since they would not be able to be proven. But his abdication would indicate that he failed.”

Vos nodded slowly. “Who were his ‘unsavory allies,’ do you know?”

“The Black Sun, and the Bando Gora,” Gregar said. Vos groaned, tipping his head back and rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“Ah, shit,” he sighed. “It _is_ a trap. Komari Vosa has been the leader of the Bando Gora since shortly after she left the Order, so there’s no way she wouldn’t have known that Sojourn was already bombed to Hel. She may have even personally been a part of it.”

“So we have nothing,” Padme sighed. Vos raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “Even though it is a trap, she might have just inadvertently given us a hint. And if I’m right about who the Council will be sending, I know what their plan will be.”

“Oh?” Padme hummed, tilting her head. Vos smirked.

“‘Spring the trap.’ Aayla--contact Tholme and tell him what we know, now. He’ll need to warn whatever team they’re sending.” Secura nodded and slid off of the bench, heading for the cockpit. As she disappeared, Vos sighed and sank back, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m going to need access to the Suduri’s home.”

Padme nodded. “Of course. It’s still being guarded, as it is an active crime scene--” Vos’s expression turned sympathetic, almost pitying, and Padme wondered what sort of expression _she’d_ just made. “--but I can give you this.” She pulled out a small metal disk from one of the pouches on her belt, handing it to him. It was embossed with the symbol of the Royal House of Naboo. “Showing that to any officials will gain you entry wherever you need to go. But please, be careful not to reveal yourselves as Jedi. That token directly links you with the government. If our people were to realize that you aren’t simply off-world investigators, called in to help…”

Vos nodded. “I understand. We’ll be careful.”

Padme took a deep breath and glanced at Gregar before turning back to Vos. “We will accompany you to their home.”

“M’lady--” Padme turned a raised eyebrow on Gregar, who gritted his teeth and folded his own arms over his chest. “I don’t like this.”

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted. “The danger has passed.”

“I still don’t like it,” he murmured.

“We won’t let anything happen to either of you,” Vos said with a shrug. Gregar looked slightly offended, likely at the implication that _he_ needed protecting. Padme stifled a laugh. “It’ll be fine.”

* * *

Padme knew where the Suduris lived--or _had_ lived, she corrected herself mentally, her heart heavy with the loss--but she had never had cause to visit them before. Their home was a pleasant, domed structure in the High Nubian style, not far from the Royal District. It was still protected by the Royal Guards they had sent to secure the scene, and the red laser grids they had set up in both the front and back entryways.

One of the Royal Guards approached them as they neared, holding up a hand. “This area is off-limits.”

“We know,” Vos said, raising an eyebrow. He reached into his pocket for the token. “My partner and I--” He gestured to Secura; both of them had changed into outfits that more befitted bounty hunters than Jedi, all clingy fabric and synthleather jackets. “--were hired to complete a third-party investigation.” He showed the token to the man, who frowned at it, and then nodded slowly.

The guard glanced at Padme and Gregar. “And you are…?”

“The Queen wished for a third-party investigation alongside an internal one,” Gregar said, and showed his own token, and then his Royal Guard ID. The guard nodded again, and then sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Thank the Goddess,” he murmured. “Between you and me, we aren’t equipped for this. There hasn’t been a _murder_ since… Well, since Cosinga Palpatine’s death, along with most of the rest of his kin. And that one’s still unsolved.” He sighed. “Anyway, we’re glad for the help.”

Vos had tensed at Cosinga Palpatine’s name, though Padme could not fathom why. She made a mental note to ask him later. “We will do our best to find the perpetrators, and retrieve their child.” The guard smiled gratefully at her and turned to deactivate the shield.

“Go on in. But… be warned. It’s a bit… unsettling,” he said, grimacing. “They left the Lady’s remains in place and set up a stasis field around her until we could investigate further.”

“The warning is appreciated,” Secura sighed, and jerked her head towards the door. “Come on, then.”

Padme felt a shiver run down her spine as they entered--in the main room, everything looked so… normal. The large windows let in a bright, cheerful amount of light, and Padme saw two cups and a plate of nuts and dried meats on the table in front of the couch set off to the side, as if they had been interrupted in the middle of a midday snack. Nothing in here seemed to be out of place, from the landscape paintings on the walls to the few toys scattered around on the floor.

“Did the examiner find a cause of death?” Secura asked.

“Undetermined, though it was definitely homicide,” Gregar said. “He needs to get the body to the palace morgue for an autopsy.”

Padme shivered again and remained silent as they moved down the hallway towards the staircase that would take them to the second floor. Vos led the way, pausing to look into the first room.

“An indoor garden--those common here?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s a shrine to the Goddess,” Padme answered, peering around him to look at it. There was a tree in the center, carefully pruned to grow in spirals, nearly reaching the top of the dome; around it were several pots of flowers, and on one wall was a small fountain. There were several cushions ringing the tree, likely where the family prayed together to the Goddess. Vos hummed and nodded, backing away from the door to peer into the next, the empty master bedroom. Here, too, everything seemed undisturbed, the bed neatly made, a stack of ‘pads on the bedside table, a pair of reading glasses beside them.

They approached the room at the end of the hall, and both Jedi tensed.

“That’s Trilla’s room,” Gregar said softly. “I’ve been here, before--a few times, actually. Social calls with Jinto.”

Vos nodded absently and pushed the door open. Padme sucked in a breath at the scene inside: Trilla’s bed--no longer a cradle, although her parents had left the tall rails attached, likely to try to stop her from getting up without them in the night (and _oh,_ how Padme missed hearing Jinto’s stories about all the havoc that girl wreaked, the expression on his face one of amusement and _love_ )--was overturned, one of the windows open, the wind causing the deep blue curtains to flutter.

And there, in the middle of the floor, surrounded by her child’s toys, was Astril Suduri. Her long, dark hair was unbound, and she had fallen face-first, one arm outstretched toward the bed, where Trilla had likely been sleeping.

Vos looked around the room and nodded to Secura. “Right. This is going to be… uncomfortable.” He pulled off one of the gloves he wore and knelt down, reaching out to touch Mrs. Suduri’s arm. He hissed, his eyes closing, and a grimace overtook his face.

“What is he doing?” Padme whispered to Secura.

“Psychometry,” she explained. “When he touches objects--or people, or even animals--he can sense their history. He’s hoping to see what happened the day she died, and if she caught a glimpse of the kidnapper.”

“I see,” Padme murmured. Vos opened his eyes and stood slowly, nodding to himself.

*******

“She knew she was dying,” he said. “She could feel that something was wrong. Trilla was upstairs, napping. She wanted to see the festival that night, so they skipped the earlier festivities so she could sleep. She heard Trilla start crying, and ran upstairs, but she was already losing strength quickly. There was someone at the window, and she grabbed the rail and pulled the bed over, trying to get to Trilla. Whoever it was used the Force to pull Trilla away from her. She didn’t have enough strength to get back up.”

*******

Padme felt tears tug at the back of her eyes, but she forced them down--now wasn’t the time. “Can you tell what killed her?”

Vos hummed. “I have a theory. Let’s go back downstairs.”

They trekked back down the stairs, and Vos approached the table, reaching with his bare hand to touch one of the glasses. He grimaced again, and then shook his head as if to clear it, drawing his hand back. Replacing the glove, he said, “Definitely poison.” He picked the cup back up and held it out to Padme and Gregar. “You’re high-society. Any chance you can identify what wine this is?”

Padme huffed a laugh, a bit startled, and leaned forward to look at it. The wine was a deep purple in color, and smelled faintly like roses… “It’s from a local vineyard, in one of the townships to the south of Theed. Reasonably priced, though on the nicer side.”

“Common?”

“Yes, unfortunately. There will likely be no way to tell whether it’s a bottle they bought themselves, or one that was gifted to them,” Padme sighed.

“We need to find the open bottle, if we can,” Secura said. “That will tell us if it was the bottle or the glass that was poisoned.”

“There should be a cellar where the wine is kept, if I remember correctly; the entrance will be through the kitchen at the back of the house,” Gregar said. Secura nodded and moved off in that direction as Vos replaced the cup.

“We know now, at least, that whoever took Trilla was a Force-user.” _A Sith,_ Padme thought, and she pursed her lips. Vos glanced at her before continuing, possibly having heard that thought. Could Jedi do that? She knew they could sense emotions, but to actually hear what you were thinking… “But everything about how they took her suggests someone with access to the Suduris. There were no signs of panic, no suspicion that something like this might happen, and whether it was the wine or the cup that was poisoned, that tells us that it was someone who came _before_ those who assaulted the festival, based on the intel we already got from your Chief of Security.”

Padme nodded slowly. “Yes. After reviewing the flight records and the public hangar security footage, we narrowed it down to three possible ships. All of them landed just a few hours before the attack, and were gone soon after--though that doesn’t necessarily mean much, considering there was a mass exodus of visitors not long after.”

Vos sighed and nodded. “So we’re looking for someone who was on Naboo before that--long enough to watch them, at least. But…”

“But?” Gregar prompted. Vos frowned and shook his head, reaching up to tug on one of his dreadlocks absently.

“I suspect it’s someone they knew,” he said. “How else would they have known that Lady Suduri and Trilla would be home while Jinto was supposed to be at the festival--and the attacks on him and his wife were coordinated, that much we know from the time of death for each of them. Plus--” Vos gestured back to the table. “--there’s that second cup. It looks like it was never even touched.”

“She was drinking with someone who _knew_ the wine was poisoned,” Gregar concluded. Vos nodded slowly.

“I’ll try to lift an impression from it.” He tugged the glove off again and picked up the other cup just as Secura returned from the cellar, holding a bottle of wine and a flimsi note.

“I found this.” She handed the note over to Padme, who held it out slightly so that Gregar could see it as well.

_Astril-- I never got the chance to repay you for your kindness, and I know that there is nothing I can do to truly thank you. Please accept this, at least, though I know you’ll likely demand we drink it together._

“A gift, then,” Padme murmured. “And she knew that Astril would insist they share it--that’s a common Naboo custom, with alcohol and food. Whoever wrote this was on a first-name basis with Mrs. Suduri and knew our customs--likely one of us, then.”

Secura hummed and turned her attention back to Vos, who was blinking his eyes open. He sat the other cup back down.

“The other person here was a woman. She felt… scared. She certainly _knew_ that the wine was poisoned, but I don’t think she did it herself,” Vos said, brow furrowed as he mulled over what he’d seen. “There was a heavy feeling of regret, too. I think she was acting on someone else’s behalf.”

“A friend of Lady Suduri’s. You were right--it was someone she knew,” Secura said, and Padme passed Vos the note. With another sigh, he pulled the glove off again, although he touched it only briefly before jerking his hand back. He stared at Padme.

“Ah, damn it all,” he sighed. “Whoever wrote that did so in the palace.”

Padme forced herself to take a deep breath, and then let it out, deliberately, before speaking. “You’re certain?”

Vos nodded. “I caught a glimpse out the window of the room they were in, and you can only get that view from the palace, judging from the city’s grid. I saw the waterfall _and_ the square.”

She frowned and nodded slowly. “I think it’s time we spoke of another… problem that was presented to us recently. We should head back to your ship.”

* * *

Secura quietly made them tea, this time, not bothering to ask if they wanted any before heading to the galley as Vos, Gregar, and Padme all settled onto the bench as they had earlier that day.

“What’s this other problem of yours?” Vos asked bluntly. He was unlike any of the other Jedi Padme had met--he seemed a bit rougher around the edges, far less diplomatic, and had a tendency towards brusqueness that Padme could almost appreciate. She often found herself wishing that politicians spent less time dancing around their requests and simply stated what they wanted, though she knew it would never happen. She found Vos… refreshing that way.

“After Naboo first left the Republic, several worlds reached out to us in support,” Padme said. “Mygeeto, Tatooine, and Geonosis were the first three, and the communications were forwarded directly to Lord Bibble, as is proper procedure for inter-system contact meant for Naboo specifically, as he is its Governor. He put each message into the briefings the Royal Advisory Council goes over at each meeting, and that I use to review issues of note before each session, and again after. But the requests from those worlds were never included in the briefings I received.

“This only came to our attention after your Council contacted me to ask for my permission to come for the festival. When I informed the Advisory Council of the request, and my acceptance, Lord Palpatine--” And there it was again, the narrowing of Vos’s eyes, the slight increase in tension around his mouth, and Padme could not help but get a _bad feeling_ about what that might mean. “--informed me that Onderon had reached out to him--that, at least, made sense, as Mina Bonteri reached out to him directly, former Senator to former Senator. I agreed to an invitation for Onderon, but Lord Bibble protested that we could not only respond to Onderon’s request, as that would be a slight against the others. Naturally, I asked _what_ others.”

“So someone removed the information from your briefing,” Secura said as she returned, setting down four cups of tea and shoving Vos over slightly to sit beside him. Padme nodded. “Who all has access?”

“Everyone on the Council itself, as well as their aides,” Padme said. “All told, it’s a staff of twelve Councilors, now, with Lord Palpatine’s addition-- _technically_ thirteen, I suppose, but Cass Narr rarely even reads the briefings, and is mostly present to weigh in on issues that may affect Gungan-Naboo relations. Each Council member has anywhere from two to five aides each.”

“That’s quite a few people to consider,” Secura said, frowning thoughtfully.

“I’ve narrowed down the list some,” Gregar said, and Padme blinked at him. He grinned at her and shrugged. “It’s less conspicuous when I speak to them as opposed to the Captain of the Royal Guard. He asked me to help. I’ve ruled out a few Councilors and their aides--Petr Vakirie was first to go from the list. He doesn’t have the heart--or the stomach--for something like this. He’s the from the Artists Guild. The other Artisans were ruled out quickly enough as well, and the Science and Mathematics Councilors. We’re left with Lord Graven, Lord Vancil, Lord Palpatine, and Lord Bibble himself, and their aides--a total of fifteen aides between them.”

Padme frowned. “It was _not_ Lord Bibble.”

“It is possible that he never included the information in the first place, and meant to keep it from you, only to realize that if Onderon were invited, the others would reach back out to you to express their disappointment and possibly their offense,” Secura pointed out.

Padme shook her head. “No. I know that man well. I will concede that it may have been one of his aides, but it was _not_ Lord Bibble.”

Vos hummed thoughtfully. “I found something, before the attacks,” he said. “I overheard a few of the aides in a tavern the night before. They were warned not to attend the festival, and when I listened in a bit more, it sounded as though they all worked for either Lord Palpatine or Lord Bibble, as those were the only two mentioned, but they were clearly palace aides, given their uniforms.”

“That news is… disconcerting,” Padme sighed. “You believe that this is all connected, then? Trilla’s kidnapping, the murders of her parents, the attack on the festival, and the redacted information from the briefings?”

Vos nodded, looking grim. “There is no coincidence; only the Force. I have a feeling that whoever was behind Lady Suduri’s poisoning is one of the aides, but possibly acting under the direction of someone more powerful--whether it was one of your advisors or not remains to be seen, but what I sensed leads me to believe they were under duress.”

Padme nodded slowly and sipped at her tea, an interesting red blend that had just a _hint_ of something spicy, but also sweet. She set the cup down and looked Vos in the eye. “Why does Lord Palpatine concern you?”

Vos sighed. “You caught that, did you?” He shook his head. “It’s… He’s suspicious. You know, I’m sure, what cost him the election?”

She sighed. “Yes, of course. He brought it to my attention as soon as the issue resurfaced, during the election. He is technically the only suspect in the murders of his family, although nothing was ever proven. He, of course, denies it, and I always believed him. He even shared his medical records with me--he was injured himself, and took a blow to the head. He says he does not remember much, which my Chief Medical Officer assured me is normal for the sort of headwound he sustained, and the trauma of the incident. But with no other leads, and the ship having been in hyperspace when it happened…”

Vos nodded slowly. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should, either.”

“I shall bear that in mind,” Padme murmured. “But still, I do not understand why _anyone_ would wish to keep the communications from Mygeeto, Tatooine, and Geonosis secret.”

“Perhaps they were trying to keep Naboo isolated,” Secura suggested. “Or trying to dictate your future alliances by controlling which worlds you spoke to.”

“Master Jedi, I know that you are sworn to the Republic, but please, give me an honest opinion,” Gregar said slowly. “Could it have been a Republic agent, trying to weaken us? To drive us back to them?”

“I doubt it,” Vos said flatly. “And if it was, they were acting alone. The Chancellor himself approved of the Order coming to Naboo, and forced Senator Organa to remain on Coruscant for the celebration, though he wanted to come himself--as a gesture of _goodwill,_ not a power play. But everyone agreed it was too soon for that.”

“That is what Master Windu said as well,” Padme agreed. “But still, even if they were acting alone, it is an angle we must consider. Master Vos, if we provide you with the personnel files for Lord Bibble and Lord Palpatine’s staff members, would you be able to identify who you saw in the tavern that night?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got a great memory for faces, and my dear Padawan did her job well that night, and kept me from getting _too_ intoxicated,” he deadpanned, and Secura winked at them, her lekku swaying in amusement. Padme laughed, appreciating the levity in an otherwise tense conversation. More and more, she thought that she liked Vos.

“Thank you,” she answered.

“We have enough to go on, for now,” Gregar said, “and it’s about time for you to be getting back to the palace, m’lady.”

Padme sighed. “Of course. Thank you for your help in this, Master Jedi.”

Vos’s answering grin was toothy and almost… predatory. “Your Majesty, we’re all too happy to help. Finding whoever is behind this will get us one step closer to saving that youngling, and catching a Sith Lord. We wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

* * *

Though Sabe had been kind enough to take on the persona of the Queen for her the day before while Padme went to investigate Lady Suduri’s death, that had been only a day of meetings with Lord Bibble and Petr Vakirie, as well as several others in their group of Artisans’ advisors. They had all agreed that rebuilding as quickly as possible was a priority; they had already made reparations to the families of those few Naboo and Gungans who had lost their lives, and now wished to ease the pain of the event by erasing the physical scars.

But today… Padme knew that she would not be able to escape today’s meeting. As she sat in the throne room, waiting for their meeting to begin, she _hated_ the feeling in her stomach. It was the heavy weight of _suspicion,_ and that was never something she wanted to feel directed at her own Advisors.

 _Soon,_ she silently promised herself. _Soon enough, we shall find our snake in the grass, and force them out._

“Councilors,” she greeted them as they all stood before their chairs. They bowed.

“Your Majesty,” they returned. She waved a hand for them to sit down, trying to keep her head as still as possible--she was wearing one of her heavier, more intricate headdresses. By the _Goddess,_ how she hated those, too. Perhaps she could chuck them all out with the traitor. The absurd thought nearly made her giggle, but she kept a composed mask; no doubt the heavy makeup helped.

“I understand you _all_ wish to revisit the issue of Naboo’s military, or lack thereof,” she began, and they nodded--some slower than others. Poor Petr looked absolutely _white,_ all the blood having drained from his face. He made a fine artist, and he had been quite helpful in his suggestions as to who they should employ to rebuild the steps, but Padme knew that he would be relieved when his term as a Councilor was over.

“We do, Your Majesty,” Lord Graven sighed. “But it is not only those of us in your government who are pressing the issue. Your people have begun to demand it as well.”

“I understand,” Padme said. “I can see, now, that our wish to return to our peaceful lives is not to be respected. Unless we sequester ourselves in isolation from the rest of the galaxy, we will not be guaranteed any measure of peace.”

“This is a truly dark and trying time, Your Majesty,” Lord Palpatine sighed. “We are all terribly sorry that you had to face such a decision as this, but, if I may say, you have our complete confidence in your ability to handle it.”

Padme smiled wanly. “Thank you, Lord Palpatine.”

“We will first need to discuss the structure of the military--” Lord Graven began, but Padme shook her head slightly, barely containing a grimace as it tugged at her hair again. That settled it--she was going to _burn_ all of them once her term was over.

“No, we will not,” Padme said smoothly, and held up a hand for silence as several Councilors opened their mouths to speak at once. She looked to Sio. “Lord Bibble, I got the impression that of the Naboo, you were able to make the best impression on the Geonosians. Would you say that is correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered slowly, a hint of confusion on his face.

“And Lord Vancil: we are still producing over a sixty percent surplus of plasma with no projected decline in the next fifty years, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent. Lord Bibble and Lord Vancil: I would ask that you contact the Geonosians to inquire about a trade agreement,” Padme ordered. “They no longer manufacture droids for the Trade Federation, and though many of their factories are already in use for projects for Tatooine, they should have enough resources to spare to create an army--a _modest_ army, for defense of the sector _only_ \--for us, in exchange for plasma.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Lord Graven said, “Your Majesty, I realize that it is not my place to question your orders, but I fear that our people would see that as… well, they may be uncomfortable with a droid army, given what they experienced at the hands of one.”

Padme smiled broadly at him, a bit toothier than normal. “I find it to be poetically just, Lord Graven. The very droids from the very source that were our invaders will now become our protectors. If you feel that my people will not accept this without an explanation, I will be happy to deliver an announcement _personally_ to explain the decision. But while this path remains open to us, I will not condone the creation of an army that, were it to have to face battle, would sacrifice sentient lives. There will, of course, be Naboo officers leading the army. And Gungan officers, if your people would not object to that, Sir Narr.”

“No, meesa no thinkin’ so,” Cass Narr replied thoughtfully. “A bombad idea, meesa thinks, Majesty. Weesa havin’ protection without losin’ lives, Gungan _or_ Naboo.”

Padme smiled more softly at him. “Thank you, Sir Narr. It is settled, then. Lord Bibble, Lord Vancil, please put together a proposal to send to the Geonosians. We will all review it together before you contact them, of course. I would like this done as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trilla's mother was in the room and saw her taken by someone who used the Force.***


	23. Cody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry I haven't been able to respond to comments. D: Life has gotten crazy again, but it's GOOD news for once!
> 
> My sister is getting married and asked me to be her maid of honor!!! :D So I'm even busier than I was before, but at least some of it's happy news!
> 
> To answer a question or two... Sometimes I'll try to guesstimate for you guys what chapter something will happen in, but I often end up switching chapter orders as I retcon info that needed to be presented before the scene I've already written (I do not write in order, like, at all, LOL). Next chapter, though, I can tell you is going to be back on Coruscant, and we'll get a look at the Council from a POV we haven't seen before... ;) And the chapter after that, we'll get some more action in our lives!
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy BB Cody meeting Obi-Wan at last! :D
> 
> Mando'a:  
> vod'e: brothers/siblings  
> beskar'gam: Mandalorian armor  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> ka'ra: stars  
> Haat Mando'ade: True Mandalorians  
> buir: father/parent  
> oya: multi-purpose exclamation, sometimes a cheer  
> Jatnese be te jatnese: Best of the best  
> Vor entye, alor.: Thank you, leader. (Ie thank you, General.)  
> gar Jetii: your Jedi  
> Vod'ika, ke'pare.: Little brother, stop.  
> beskar: Mandalorian iron  
> Ba'gedet'ye: You're welcome (not sure if this one is canon or fanon, but I know I've seen it around, so I've been using it until I find something more definitively canon LOL)  
> 'Lek: Yeah  
> ba'vodu: aunt (can also mean uncle)  
> Su'cuy: Hi  
> ad: child  
> shatual: not strictly Mando'a, but it is a Mandalorian animal

Cody didn’t remember finishing his critique of his  _ vod’e _ going through the obstacle course. He  _ knew _ that he’d shouted out gruff feedback, as he always did, but he was… running on autopilot, by that point. He didn’t remember eating dinner, or climbing into his bunk for the night. His brain seemed to have short-circuited, ever since he’d locked eyes with the red-haired man in  _ beskar’gam _ watching them from the observation deck two days ago.

And Cody  _ knew,  _ without a shadow of a doubt, that that had been General Kenobi--he’d seen plenty of holos of the man, digging through his file. He knew well enough what he looked like, and that had been the General who’d seen  _ him  _ in his visions, the General who’d known his name before he himself did, staring down at him with an inscrutable expression on his face, seeming to stare straight at him even through Cody’s  _ buy’ce _ .

“You’re not eating.” Cody scowled up at CC-3636-- _ Wolffe,  _ he reminded himself, his name was  _ Wolffe _ now--and shrugged, not answering the inherent question.

“I’m full.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow at him and glanced down at his mostly-full breakfast tray. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. What’s bothering you,  _ vod? _ ”

Cody shrugged again, more jerkily this time. “I just… you know how I got my name.” Wolffe nodded slowly. “Well, he’s here. I saw him. General Kenobi.” Wolffe hummed thoughtfully.

“Whatever happens, happens,” he said firmly. “But you know the longnecks track our caloric intake. You need to eat, or they’ll  _ make you  _ eat.” Cody sighed and shook his head.

“My stomach is in knots,” he confided, keeping his voice low. Wolffe tilted his head.

“Why?”

“Just… He  _ knew my name.  _ Before I even knew that I  _ had _ a name,” Cody said. “He saw me in a vision. That’s… by the  _ ka’ra,  _ that’s  _ insane _ . And now he’s  _ here. _ ”

Wolffe sighed. “Still nothing you can do about it  _ now.  _ So  _ eat. _ ” He pointedly pushed Cody’s tray towards him, and Cody huffed, but obediently began scooping up some of the nutrient mash. Wolffe nodded in satisfaction and left him to it.

It wasn’t long before they were interrupted by Looma Dai, one of their regular overseers. She stood just beside Cody, and swayed her head at him. “CC-2224.” Cody rose and stood at attention. “Your presence has been requested. Please come with me.”

Cody nodded and waited until the  _ Kaminii _ ’s back was turned to shoot Wolffe a hard look. Nothing he could do about it  _ now,  _ huh? He could only think of one reason he’d be mysteriously summoned after the  _ Jetii  _ he had some strange connection to appeared on Kamino.

He was about to meet the General.

* * *

Cody wasn’t wrong. He was led to one of the meeting rooms that the cadets rarely used, though the CC-clones were brought in more than the CT-clones, plotting mock campaigns and battle plans they would later try out in the sim rooms. General Kenobi was standing at the far end of the room, looking out the windows that made up the wall, staring at the ocean surrounding them, standing at parade rest. The water was just starting to roil--there would be a storm coming.

“Thank you, Sir Dai. I’ll be sure to return him to his squad once we’re finished here,” the General said without turning around.

“Of course, Master Jedi.” Taking the dismissal for what it was, the  _ Kaminii  _ swept from the room, and Cody was left alone with the  _ Jetii,  _ only the holotable separating them, surrounded by chairs. The General didn’t speak, and he didn’t turn around, and Cody frowned as he stood at attention behind him, waiting. Finally, the General nodded to himself, squaring his shoulders.

“At ease, Commander.” Cody switched to parade rest, but remained silent. Finally, the General turned. His hair looked brighter this close, redder than it’d seemed from afar, or in holos. He looked neat and tidy, the part of him that lived and breathed regulations noted with satisfaction. His  _ beskar’gam _ was well cared-for, and there were several scars on it, attesting to his prowess in battle. On one pauldron was the symbol of the  _ Haat Mando’ade,  _ their  _ buir _ ’s Mythosaur, and on the other, the symbol of the  _ Jetiise. _ “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

Cody nodded and sat in the chair he was closest to, posture ramrod straight, looking straight ahead; General Kenobi strode forward and took a seat near him, leaving one chair between them. Again, Cody waited for him to speak.

“CC-2224,” the General said slowly, and Cody finally looked him in the eye. There was a faint look of distaste on his face, and tension around the corners of his eyes. “Is there something else I might call you?”

“...don’t you already know, sir?” And  _ ka’ra,  _ Cody had really put his foot in it this time. The first time he spoke to the General, and he was already mouthing off--

But General Kenobi only snorted in amusement, a smile beginning to form on his face. “Commander Cody, then.” Cody nodded, tentatively smiling back. “Has CT-7567 found his name yet?” Cody shook his head, and the General hummed. “I asked you here partly to discuss him.” Cody’s stomach sank, and the General shook his head. “Neither of you are in any trouble, Commander. I only wanted to ask your opinion of him.”

Cody frowned. “My opinion of him?” he repeated dully. The General nodded.

“ _ Elek.  _ I know that the two of you are close. As a superior officer, what is your opinion of him? What are his strengths and weaknesses?”

Cody frowned thoughtfully. “‘67 is smart. He’s creative, good at thinking on his feet and reacting in the moment. But that’s also his biggest weakness, and sometimes he reacts without fully thinking plans through. But he’s physically skilled, and he manages to make it out of the scrapes he gets himself into. He’s… scrappy. Sir.”

The General’s lips twitched in a smile, his eyes bright, and he nodded. “He has exceptional test scores, and those only improved once you took him under your wing.” Cody flushed, but forced himself not to break eye contact. “I’m recommending him for command training. If you will add your assessment to the recommendation, I’m certain that, between the two of us, it will be accepted by the  _ Kaminiise _ .”

Cody blinked, and then broke out into a wide smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“He deserves it,” the General said with a firm nod. “And both of you will be in the first ARC training class.”

“ _...oya, _ ” Cody murmured, his eyes wide, and the General laughed. It was a nice sound that made him smile back reflexively.

“You’ll do well,” he said firmly. Cody tilted his head thoughtfully, and he wanted so badly to ask what the General had already seen, but-- “You have my permission to speak freely, Commander. Ask any question you’d like.”

Well. Alright then.

“What do visions show you?”

The General smiled wanly, his eyes going stormy grey. “I assume you’re asking what I saw about you?” Cody’s flush deepened as he nodded. “You were my Commander.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ He hadn’t just been someone the General had seen, he’d  _ worked with him,  _ and  _ closely.  _ Would work with him? Cody wasn’t entirely sure what visions actually  _ meant _ .

“Will I be any good?” Cody asked, and the General’s smile grew, though his eyes darkened even further for a moment for a moment, but it was gone so quickly Cody almost thought he’d imagined it.

“ _ Jatnese be te jatnese, _ ” he said. Cody found himself smiling as well.

“ _ Vor entye, alor. _ ” The General nodded. “So there  _ will be _ a war.”

The General grimaced. “I sincerely  _ hope  _ not, but the galaxy is experiencing great turmoil these days. Still, we are doing what we can to try to prevent it.”

Cody frowned, but nodded. It wasn’t that he  _ wanted _ war--he knew that with war came death, and destruction. But that… The coming war was his entire  _ reason  _ for existing. What would happen to the  _ vod’e _ if there  _ wasn’t _ a war?

He blinked, refocusing his attention on the General. Those thoughts weren’t helpful right now. “Will you be on Kamino long, sir?”

The General hummed. “I plan to be, although the Force seems to indicate that I will be needed elsewhere soon. But for now, we’d best get you back to your squad, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“So, what’s he like?” Cody sighed, shaking his head and glancing up at ‘67, who was staring at him with an eager expression. Cody shrugged, as well as he could in his position, sitting up in his bunk, his back leaned up against the metal wall while ‘67 stared down at him.

“We only talked for a few minutes,” Cody said. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to  _ you  _ about.”

“What else could be more important? There’s a  _ Jetii _ on Kamino, and it’s not just any  _ Jetii _ \--it’s  _ gar Jetii. _ ”

Cody rolled his eyes. “ _ Vod’ika, ke’pare.  _ Listen to me.” ‘67 rolled his eyes and snapped off a mocking salute that made Cody snort. “He called me in to talk about  _ you _ .”

‘67 blinked, and then pointed at himself. “ _ Me? _ ”

“Yes,  _ you.  _ He wanted to know my opinion of your skills. I told him the truth, and he said he’s recommending you for  _ command training. _ ”

‘67’s mouth dropped open, and he blinked, and then closed it again, and shook his head. “ _ What? _ ”

Cody laughed. “I know. It’s… This is  _ amazing, vod.  _ It’s everything we worked for--but that’s not all, either. Both of us are going to be in the first ARC class.”

“... _ oya, _ ” ‘67 breathed, and Cody laughed again.

“Exactly what I said to the General, when he told me.”

“Cody!  _ Vod,  _ you should come with us,” CC-1010 called out to them from the doorway. “The  _ Jetiise _ are training, and they said we can watch!”

Immediately, Cody and ‘67 scrambled up, their previous conversation forgotten. They raced towards the training rooms, and it was readily apparent where the  _ Jetiise  _ were by the small crowd of  _ vod’e _ already gathered. Cody would’ve bet that there would have been more of them, had this not been a training day for most of the squads.

“Excuse us,  _ vod’e,  _ General Kenobi’s Commander, coming through!” ‘67 called, causing Cody’s cheeks to heat, but it had the desired effect of creating a path for them. None of the other  _ vod’e _ had actually opened the door, and… it didn’t look like the  _ Jetiise  _ were doing much. General Kenobi, General Jinn, and Commander Skywalker were sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath them, and General Jinn looked up as they approached the door and smiled, raising a hand to beckon them in. 

‘67 didn’t hesitate, and Cody wasn’t sure if he wanted to reprimand him for behaving unbecoming an officer or if he was proud of his fearlessness, but he followed after his  _ vod’ika _ . They stopped just inside the room, and General Jinn laughed and shook his head.

“Come,” he said, waving them forward again. This time, ‘67 seemed frozen in place, and Cody gently grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the  _ Jetiise.  _ “Why don’t you sit with us?” He looked to the open door and chuckled again. Louder, he called, “Any of you who might like to join us are welcome.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Cody quickly sat between General Kenobi and General Jinn, and ‘67 sat between General Jinn and Commander Skywalker, watching as twenty or so other  _ vod’e _ filed in, forming a ring around the  _ Jetiise. _

“We met a few of your other brothers already, and curiosity about the Order seems to be common,” General Jinn said once they had all settled themselves down. “We guessed that you might have a few questions for us about the Order, and so we thought we might invite you to our training session.”

“ _ Vor’e,  _ General!” they said in unison, and General Jinn’s expression froze, his eyes darkening, for just a moment before lightening again.

“Now, the first exercise is meditation,” General Kenobi said. “Generally, that is done sitting still, and quiet. We try to minimize distractions in order to focus on our connection to the Force. Of course, Jedi are hardly the only group to meditate. There are many races and cultures who use the practice for a variety of reasons: to quiet their minds, settle their emotions, focus on a particular question or problem presented to them. I imagine you could all meditate, if you wished. But we didn’t invite you here to sit still and quiet.” With that, he stood, General Jinn and Commander Skywalker following him, and then the  _ vod’e _ soon after.

“Moving meditation is  _ definitely  _ better,” Commander Skywalker declared with a grin. “With moving meditation, you do something physically repetitive or calming to distract your body while your mind is focusing. I…  _ might _ have some trouble sitting still, and I saw the obstacle course you practice on--and  _ that _ looks like fun, maybe I could try it later?”

“Anakin,” General Kenobi prompted, raising an eyebrow at him. Commander Skywalker  _ rolled his eyes,  _ and Cody’s gaze met ‘67’s, both of them startled. Was he  _ allowed _ to do that? General Kenobi was his  _ direct superior officer-- _

“Anyway. So moving meditation! Who wants to try it with us? Anybody who doesn’t want to obviously doesn’t  _ have  _ to--” Cody frowned.  _ Was _ that supposed to be obvious? This was a  _ Jetii  _ Commander and two Generals. If they told them to do it, they had to follow orders.

“Uh, I’m game, sir.” Of course it was ‘67 again. Cody had been planning on asking for a demonstration  _ first,  _ since they’d been cleared not to participate, but now that ‘67 had jumped the gun, it was practically guaranteed that they would  _ all _ do it.

Commander Skywalker grimaced and shook his head. “Just Anakin is fine.”

‘67 stiffened. “Ah, but that’s… Isn’t that a bit inappropriate, Commander?”

“ _ Commander? _ ” he repeated, and then shook his head. “Just Anakin, or Padawan, if you really want to use a title.”

And then CT-5555  _ raised his hand,  _ waiting to be called on, and Cody had to resist the urge to smack his forehead. This was already  _ not going well,  _ and none of them were following  _ proper protocol.  _ By the  _ ka’ra,  _ what these  _ Jetiise _ must think of them--

“Yes, ah… CT-5555?” General Jinn said. “Is there another name you might prefer?”

CT-5555  _ shrugged,  _ and that was  _ it.  _ Cody was definitely going to give them a lecture when they got back, because they  _ knew _ the regs, and who knew how many  _ Kaminiise  _ were watching them! Even if the  _ Jetiise _ were accepting of this sort of behavior, the longnecks  _ weren’t,  _ and this sort of disrespect could get you demoted, or even  _ decommissioned _ \--

General Kenobi touched his arm gently, just where his vambrace ended before his elbow, and Cody’s thoughts shuddered to a halt. He blinked at the General, who simply gave him a soft smile and a nod, and then moved away again. That was… interesting. What had he done that for?

“Fives is good,” CT-5555 answered. “Nice and simple, faster to say.”

“Thank you, Fives,” General Jinn said, giving him a smile and a nod. “What is your question?”

“I’ve heard that  _ Jetiise _ can use the Force to do things, physically, that regular humans can’t do. And, well, we  _ are _ genetically modified, but I don’t think we’re  _ that _ good,” Fives joked. “Are we going to be  _ able _ to follow along?”

General Jinn tutted at him, but there was another gentle smile on his face. “Do you truly think we would introduce ourselves to you by giving you an assignment doomed to fail? No, Fives, you do not need the Force to perform these exercises. The Force will help us to extend our stamina, certainly, and perform them  _ longer  _ than Force-nulls might be able to, but the movements themselves will be easily followed. I promise.”

“Thank you, sir.”

General Jinn nodded. “Now, please spread out--we want at least an arm’s length in all directions away from each other.”

Obediently, they formed up like they would for their staff drills, a swing away from each other in neat, staggered lines. General Jinn went to stand at the front of the room with Commander-- _ Padawan _ Skywalker, Cody corrected himself. General Kenobi went to stand behind them.

“Anakin will demonstrate first.” General Jinn nodded to the boy, and he grinned and fell into a ready stance, legs spread a bit wider, his hands open, but held in front of him. Slowly, he began moving through a series of movements that Cody cataloged carefully. They looked like hand-to-hand movements, though arranged in patterns that Cody had never seen before. There were no complicated spins or flips, like they’d seen in the training footage the  _ Kaminiise _ had in their database about the  _ Jetiise,  _ just simple steps and turns, subtle shifts in position, and open-handed strikes. He ended up turning a full rotation in place, and when he returned to his original position, he stopped and looked to General Jinn, who smiled. “Very good, Ani. Now, we don’t expect you to have memorized that from one demonstration; that’s why we’ll place ourselves at either end of the room, so that you may follow one of us as you turn. The point is to focus on slow, consistent movements, and repeat them, until the repetitive actions help you to quite your mind. Shall we begin?”

* * *

Cody was  _ exhausted.  _ He couldn’t quite understand  _ why,  _ though--sparring with his  _ vod’e  _ was more intense than that had been, and the obstacle courses were a lot harder, so  _ why  _ was he, ever-so-slightly,  _ shaking? _

“What’s got you so worn out?” Wolffe asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Cody shrugged.

“Some of us trained with the Generals today,” he said casually. Immediately, activity around his bunk ceased, those of his  _ vod’e _ who had overheard that looking at him incredulously. Cody laughed. “It was… strange. It seems like it shouldn’t have been that  _ difficult,  _ but after a while… It was just this series of slow, deliberate movements, but you repeat them over and over again. The point was to meditate, to ‘quite our minds’ by distracting our bodies.”

“...did it work?” CC-5052 asked. Cody frowned.

“I guess it did, a bit,” he said with a shrug. “At first, I was just focusing on trying to get the movements right, but by the time I’d really gotten it, I was already starting to get a bit tired. Then I couldn’t think about anything  _ but _ my body, and how tired I was. But, near the end, I hit a point where it was just… blank. I wasn’t focusing on anything.”

“Huh,” ‘52 muttered. “Sounds… weird. Would you do it again?”

“I  _ am _ going to do it again,” Cody said. “Apparently they do this  _ every day,  _ and they’ve invited us. My courses conflict some days, but when I have the time, I’m going back.”

“Who, exactly, did they invite?” Wolffe asked, tilting his head thoughtfully. Cody shrugged.

“Any of us who’re available, and want to come. And I mean  _ any  _ of the  _ vod’e-- _ not just us CCs.”

A few of the  _ vod’e _ exchanged  _ looks,  _ and Cody grinned. He had a feeling they might need to find a bigger training room before long.

* * *

It wasn’t that Cody was  _ trying  _ to follow his General around, it just seemed to  _ happen.  _ Aside from the training sessions (which the  _ Jetiise _ had started splitting them into groups for, each group led by one of them, because there were far too many of the  _ vod’e _ interested in the sessions to keep them in one training room), Cody seemed to run into him at all hours. He would find the General in the mess, seated with a group of  _ vod’e _ and telling wild stories about his own cadet days--sometimes with General Jinn seated with them and making sarcastic little quips and corrections; he would find the General in the room reserved for the various obstacle courses the  _ Kaminiise _ would set up for them, watching them all with a careful eye and providing encouragement and suggestions with a gentle smile; and at night…

Cody knew that he wasn’t supposed to wander the halls, but all that that meant was that he’d gotten very good at doing so without being detected, dodging the few  _ Kaminiise  _ up and about at that time, and the droid monitors meant to keep them in their bunks with ease. He was just…  _ restless,  _ too many worries weighing on him (Fives was too slow, on his last few runs, and if he didn’t get his scores up, he might be reassigned, or even decommissioned; Wolffe and ‘52 were fighting again, but neither would tell him what they were fighting  _ about _ ; ‘67 was nervous about moving into the Command track, even though it was everything they’d ever wanted for him, and Cody was at a loss about how to reassure him), and he knew he couldn’t sleep. Deciding to go for a walk was always the easiest way to ensure he never bothered his  _ vod’e _ with his sleeplessness, and keep his burdens from their minds.

He turned down another hallway and spotted one of the droids rounding the corner and quickly ducked into one of the smaller training rooms. The lights were still off, and he had no reason to think that anyone would be in the room at this hour, so as he pressed himself against the wall beside the door, out of view of the pane of glass the droid would scan through to see if there was anyone there, Cody blinked as he saw the vague, dark form of someone sitting on the ground.

“Commander Cody.” He knew that voice, and he cleared his throat quietly.

“General Kenobi. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Not that he knew what he was interrupting anyway, since the General seemed to just be sitting in an empty room in the dark, but… well, it wasn’t his place to ask. “I’ll be going in just a moment--”

“If you like,” the General hummed, and Cody could almost picture the gentle look on his face, his head slightly tilted to the side, his eyes bright and penetrating as ever. “But I wouldn’t mind company, if you wish to stay a while.”

Cody paused, going silent as he heard the droid outside. The red light of its scanner shone through the glass, lighting up the General, and Cody caught a glimpse of something set out in front of him. It looked like something mechanical, but in pieces, sitting before him. Cody frowned--did  _ Jetiise _ not need light to see? Why else would he be working on something in the dark? But the droid finished its scan and, clearly deciding that the General was not one of the  _ vod’e _ who needed to be herded back to his bed, rolled off. Cody relaxed slightly and stepped forward, blinking as his eyes struggled to readjust to the dark. The lights suddenly clicked on, but only to half-power, and Cody nodded at him in thanks as he slowly stepped forward.

“Please, sit,” the General invited him, waving a hand. Cody sat a few feet away, looking at the pieces in front of the General. There was a small battery pack, a long, thin cylinder (and the silver-blue of the metal shone even in the dim light, and Cody realized that was  _ beskar,  _ real  _ beskar,  _ like the General’s  _ beskar’gam _ ), and--

“Are you building another… lightsaber?” Cody asked, hesitating over the word. Most of their brothers called them “laser-swords,” although he’d seen the way that the Generals both grimaced at that description and tried to strike the word from their vocabulary in favor of “lightsaber.”

The General nodded, and held out a closed fist, palm-up. Slowly, he opened his fingers, revealing a small crystal.

“This crystal called to me on Ilum, but it’s been… a bit recalcitrant,” the General explained, a strangely exasperated half-smile on his face. Cody frowned.

“Recalcitrant,” he repeated. The General sighed and nodded.

“Yes. Kyber crystals are… well, they aren’t quite  _ sentient,  _ but they are attuned to the Force in a very unique way, and we can… communicate with them,” he explained. “I’ve been meditating with the crystal, but it hasn’t seemed to want to become part of a ‘saber yet.” Cody frowned, and opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. The General laughed brightly. “I know, it doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, does it? I feel like I’ve gotten closer to convincing it, hence why I’m here in the middle of the night. I feel I might have some success tonight.”

“I can go, if I’m interrupting--”

The General waved a hand. “That’s hardly necessary. Your presence is no distraction, Commander.” His voice was warm, and Cody couldn’t help the flush and the pleased grin that spread over his face. He quickly looked down at the components again, and pointed to a strange sort of lens in another, smaller metal casing that also seemed to be  _ beskar _ .

“What is that?”

“The focusing emitter,” the General explained. “The crystal fits into a bracket inside the casing--” He gestured to the  _ beskar  _ sheath. “--with the battery near the end of the ‘saber. The focusing emitter goes above the crystal, at the end of the casing, and that is what controls the beam of the ‘saber itself. There can be various lengths, from the standard ‘saber to a shoto. Some ‘sabers are even staffs, with double emitters on either end.”

“Oh,” Cody said slowly, trying to picture it. They had trained with staffs--how could they  _ not  _ have, when it was  _ ba’vodu _ ’s favorite weapon? But to picture a double-bladed lightsaber, wielded as a staff… That would be  _ amazing.  _ Terrifying, of course, but amazing.

“That does give me an idea…” the General said slowly. He clenched his hand around the crystal again, closing his eyes briefly, and then he smiled, opening them. “Is there anywhere here where I might find spare parts? A repair bay, perhaps?”

Cody tilted his head. “Spare parts for what?”

The General shrugged. “Anything. Droids, ships, weapons. I can repurpose other parts as-needed, but I think our conversation has led me to realize what was wrong with the ‘saber before.”

He nodded slowly. “We aren’t far from the repair bay for the training droids. I can lead you there, if you’d like.”

The General’s smile was just as warm and soft as he’d imagined it would be in the dark. “If you wouldn’t mind, Commander.”

* * *

The General had seemed to think it was  _ fun _ to sneak around in the dimly-lit hallways with him, avoiding the patrol droids. He already knew their hand signals--unsurprising, Cody thought, since he was  _ vod _ to their  _ buir,  _ and they’d been in the field together several times before--and even though it would have been fine, had they been found, since he was a General and could have excused Cody’s wandering with his mere presence, he seemed to find it entertaining to sneak around. Cody himself had always felt  _ stressed _ by it, knowing the consequences of his actions, if he’d been caught, but here and now, with his General beside him, rounding corners and signalling careful but quick  _ clear-advance, hold-hide _ commands to each other as they crept through the quiet halls, Cody found a smile creeping onto his own face.

Finally, they reached the repair bay, and they were able to relax. The General let out a little huff of a laugh and shook his head.

“I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” he said brightly. “ _ Vor’e _ , Commander.”

Cody grinned back and nodded. “ _ Ba’gedet'ye. _ ”

The General hesitated. “You’re welcome to stay, but it is late. I’ll understand if you need to be getting back to your bunk.”

Cody shrugged. “I don’t sleep much.”

“Well, we have that much in common, then.” The General reached into the bag he had shoved all of the disassembled lightsaber components into, and drew the crystal out of its pouch on his belt. He nodded slowly at it. “Yes, I think it agrees with this idea. Could you help me find a clamp and small hook? I’ve noticed some of the older training droids are ET-493 types, and the clamp-and-hook system they use for attaching their hands would work perfectly, but I’ll need two of them.”

Cody nodded slowly, looking around at the rows of deactivated droids. They only had a few of the ET-493 types left, but there had to be a few of them around here  _ somewhere… _

Both he and the General disappeared into the rows of droids, and General Kenobi found one, and then Cody found another. “Should I just take the whole arm for now?”

“ _ ‘Lek, gedet’ye, _ ” the General called back, sounding distracted. Cody disconnected the arm and carried it back to where the General was now sitting on the floor, disassembling another arm. Without looking up, he handed Cody a spanner. “If you wouldn’t mind disassembling it…?”

“Of course.” He got to work quickly, and inside another half an hour, they had pulled out two of the clamp-and-hook parts that attached the droids’ hands to their arms. The General nodded in satisfaction.

“ _ Vor’e.  _ Now I just need to solder these on…” Cody watched in fascination as the General took out his existing lightsaber and began to add one to the end. Finishing that, he added another to the unfinished  _ beskar _ casing, and then nodded to himself. “I think that should do it.”

Setting all of the parts down before him, the General took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly, and Cody blinked and drew back slightly in surprise as the pieces began to  _ float.  _ Slowly, they came together, and the General opened his hand, the crystal slotting itself into place in the  _ beskar _ casing, and then the two clamps connected with each other to form a  _ lightstaff,  _ just like the General had been telling him about. He opened his eyes to survey the work before smiling to himself.

Standing, he took a hold of the ‘saber and hit the switch: a bolt of blue came out one end, and the other was bright yellow. The General backed up a few feet before swinging it around in a few lazy arcs. Nodding to himself, he put both hands on either side of the hilt, twisted, and pulled, and the two separated--

“ _ Ka'ra, _ ” Cody breathed. “That’s amazing, sir.”

The General laughed brightly again and bowed his head. “ _ Vor entye.  _ Your help was appreciated. This ‘saber has been giving me trouble for weeks.”

Cody’s answering grin was fierce. “I’m always happy to help you, General.”

The answering smile on the General’s face was almost… sad, his eyes faraway like  _ buir’s  _ sometimes got when he was talking about Mandalore or the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ , which didn’t make a lot of sense, but Cody pushed down his questions as the General replied with a simple, “I know.”

* * *

“You seem tired,” ‘52 said over breakfast. His tone was carefully neutral, but Cody picked up on the inherent question. He shrugged.

“I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“And you weren’t in the barracks,” ‘52 whispered, ensuring the ever-present  _ Kaminiise _ wouldn’t hear him. “Where were you?”

“Around,” Cody answered vaguely, shrugging lightly. “With the General. He finished his lightsaber last night.”

‘52 blinked at him. “And he let you  _ watch? _ ”

“He was actually quite a great help.” They both turned around, Cody flushing-- _ again,  _ he really needed to get that under control--and ‘52 stiffening as they looked at General Kenobi, standing behind them. He was smiling down at them with that same gentle expression, but there was a spark of  _ worry _ in his eyes that concerned Cody, making him frown. “I’d like to speak to you, Commander, if you have a moment after your breakfast.”

Cody nodded. “I’m free now, General. I was just finishing up.” ‘52 quickly reached out to snag his unfinished roll, popping it into his mouth before the  _ Kaminiise  _ could see it and stop him. Cody shook his head at his brother’s antics and stood to follow his General.

“And where is ‘67?”

“Probably getting out of his first class,” Cody answered. “They have breakfast second session. He’s still on the CT-schedule, until the end of this class rotation.”

The General hummed and nodded. “Do you think you could find him for me and meet me in the conference room on level 11? I’ll be quick, I promise. He’ll still have time for breakfast.” Cody stood a bit straighter and nodded.

“ _ Elek, alor. _ ”

“ _ Vor’e,  _ Cody.”

He wasted no time intercepting ‘67, who paled a bit at the news that the General asked for the two of them personally. Glancing around to make sure the hallway was clear of any  _ Kaminiise,  _ Cody bumped his pauldron against ‘67’s.

“It’ll be fine,  _ vod’ika.  _ The General’s a good man. And the last time he asked to see me about you was good, too,” Cody reassured him. ‘67 nodded, trying to stand a bit straighter, although Cody could tell he was still nervous. Ah, well. He’d see for himself.

Cody paused as they approached the conference room, frowning and holding up a hand to stop ‘67 as well. He leaned towards the door--

“Hear that?” he murmured. ‘67 frowned and leaned closer as well before nodding. There were voices in there, speaking too low to be heard, until--

“You keep  _ leaving me behind! _ ” Cody frowned--that was Commander-- _ Padawan  _ Skywalker. He sounded upset, and Cody tensed, wondering if something was wrong, wondering if he should go in, or if he should wait for them to finish--

He couldn’t hear the General’s reply--he  _ assumed _ that Padawan Skywalker was talking to the General, at least--but he certainly heard Padawan Skywalker’s reply: “I can’t  _ help you  _ if you don’t  _ let me, Master!  _ And how am I supposed to learn anything if you  _ keep leaving me behind? _ ”

“Anakin--”

“Forget it!”

With that, Cody pushed ‘67 back away from the door as he heard stomping, heading for the door, and tried to make it look as if they’d just approached. Padawan Skywalker opened the door, looking positively  _ furious,  _ and scowled at them before storming off down the hallway. Cody jerked his head towards the room, and led ‘67 in.

The General was in his full armor, as always, with his  _ buy’ce _ resting on the table, one hand on his face as he slowly shook his head.

“Sir?” Cody said, and he looked up. Sighing, he managed a smile for the two of them.

“Commander Cody,” he greeted him, and then he turned to ‘67. “Captain.” ‘67 grinned at him, the sound of his new title still causing a little thrill of excitement that was hard for him to hide. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, sir. What can we do for you?” Cody asked politely. The General frowned, glancing past them at the now-closed door before looking back at them.

“I’m sure you heard some of that,” he said, grimacing faintly. “I apologize for it. Anakin is rather… upset, at the moment. I have been called away on an urgent mission for the Council, and he will have to remain here, for now. Qui-Gon will be coming with me, and normally we would not leave a Padawan so young without a Jedi to look after him, but the circumstances are a bit unusual. We are leaving him in his  _ buir _ ’s care, for now.”

“I see,” Cody said slowly, even though he had no idea what that had to do with him, or ‘67. The General’s lips quirked in a small smile, as if sensing his thoughts.

“I know that you are both quite busy already, with your courses, but I hoped you might do me a favor while I’m away,” he said. Cody and ‘67 exchanged a  _ look _ . What did  _ that _ mean? Was that just polite phrasing for an order? Were they being given some sort of assignment?

“Of course, sir,” Cody repeated, nodding firmly. ‘67 nodded as well, following his head, although he was tense.

“Look after him for me?” the General asked. “Commander, I know that you’re quite experienced with looking after your  _ vod’ike.  _ And you, Captain… I think that you would mesh well with Anakin. The more occupied you can keep him, the less trouble he’ll cause. For all of us.”

Cody and ‘67 exchanged another look, and then turned back and nodded, squaring their shoulders in unison.

“We can do that, sir,” ‘67 assured him, speaking up for the first time. The General’s smile this time was larger, more genuine.

“ _ Vor’e. _ ”

“When are you leaving, sir?” Cody asked, trying to get a handle on his mission parameters.

“In three days.”

“And how long do you estimate you’ll be gone?”

The General grimaced. “Well, I’m headed for the opposite end of the galaxy. The travel time alone will take at least twenty-five days, there and back. And the mission itself… At best, perhaps a day or two. At worst…” He shrugged. Cody frowned, but nodded slowly.

“I understand, sir. We’ll take care of him for you.”

The smile they got this time was genuine, but also somehow  _ sad,  _ and Cody still did not understand that, though he’d started to expect it from General Kenobi. “I know you will.”

* * *

There were some nights when the _Jetiise_ joined the _vod’e_ in the mess for dinner, and some where they weren’t seen at all, presumably eating in _buir_ or _ba’vodu_ ’s quarters. But they had all always come in together, so Cody frowned in concern Generals Jinn and Kenobi appeared without Padawan Skywalker. He took a bracing breath and made his way over to the Generals, stopping at their table and saluting.

“At ease, Commander. Would you care to sit with us?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Cody answered, falling into parade rest. “I was wondering if you knew where Padawan Skywalker’s gotten to?”

General Jinn pursed his lips. The General sighed and shook his head before answering, “I’m afraid Anakin isn’t taking the news well. He refused to come to dinner, and chose instead to remain in the repair bay. He’s been tinkering for the last few hours.”

Cody nodded. “Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

The Generals both smiled at that. “Thank you, Commander Cody, isn’t it?” General Jinn said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have a pleasant evening,” General Jinn said with a nod.

Cody nodded back and left the mess, walking a bit faster than he normally would. His first stop was the CT-barracks, where ‘67 was still bunking for now. Cody didn’t even properly enter, merely sticking his head in the door to shout, “ _ ‘67! With me! _ ” ‘67 was there in a flash, looking at him with concern. “Padawan Skywalker skipped dinner. He’s hiding out in one of the repair bays--the one on level eleven, I think, from what the General said.”

‘67 nodded. “Right. We’d better move.”

They strode quickly and purposefully through the corridors, shoulder-to-shoulder, and something about the looks on their faces, something in their posture, must have told their  _ vod’e _ that this was Important, because their other  _ vod’e _ parted for them and hushed as they passed. It didn’t take long for them to reach the repair bay, and finding Padawan Skywalker was easy--he was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by half-disassembled mouse droids. He looked up as they approached, freezing with a spanner in one hand, and what looked to be a circuit board in the other.

“Uh,  _ su’cuy, _ ” Padawan Skywalker said.

“ _ Su’cuy,  _ Padawan Skywalker,” Cody returned evenly. They stared at each other for a moment longer, and Cody wished he knew what to  _ say.  _ Should he treat him like a commanding officer? Like one of the  _ vod’e?  _ He was  _ ba’vodu _ ’s  _ ad,  _ after all--

“What are you doing?” ‘67 asked, tilting his head and peering at the mouse droids. Padawan Skywalker flushed.

“Nothing! I’m just… improving the mouse droids. I’m working on something similar for my final project in my Mechanics class, back at the Temple,” he said quickly.  _ Too  _ quickly, and Cody knew he was  _ definitely  _ up to something.

“What sort of improvements are you making?” ‘67 asked, keeping his voice light and interested rather than accusatory.

“I, uh, that’s… They’re for extra security,” the Padawan said slowly. “I’m upgrading their optical ports, and their hard drives,  _ and _ their audio inputs, so that they can record things.”

“For additional security.”

“Yup.”

Cody and ‘67 exchanged  _ looks,  _ and then ‘67 shrugged and turned back to Padawan Skywalker. “Can we help?”

Padawan Skywalker blinked at them, and then nodded slowly. “Uh, sure.  _ Vor’e,  _ I guess?”

“ _ Ba’gedet’ye, _ ” Cody answered, following ‘67’s lead and sitting down, picking up one of the optical ports that needed new connector wires. Grabbing a soldering iron and the wires he needed, Cody set to work, ‘67 beside him doing the same.

“So do you guys have names?” Padawan Skywalker asked. “I know some of you do, and some haven’t picked theirs yet.”

“I’m Cody.” Padawan Skywalker looked up to flash him a smile before going back to his circuit.

“And you?” He waved one hand, still holding a spanner, at ‘67.

“I, uh, haven’t picked one yet. Haven’t found one that fits,” ‘67 said. “I’m CT-7567, so most  _ vod’e _ call me ‘67.”

“Right,” Padawan Skywalker said, glancing up and smiling at him, too. “You’ll pick one when it’s right. Any chance I can get you two to call me Anakin?”

“That… wouldn’t be appropriate, sir,” Cody said slowly.

Padawan Skywalker rolled his eyes--he seemed to do that a lot, Cody noticed. “There’s this… unspoken  _ rule _ at the Temple, where everyone is formal in public. It’s all ‘Master Kenobi’ and ‘Padawan Skywalker’ in public--even between two Masters, or other Jedi of the same rank, they use their formal titles in public. But when they’re in friendly company, they use first names more.”

“So… you’re asking us to use your first name when we aren’t in situations of command?” ‘67 asked. Padawan Skywalker looked up and nodded.

“Yeah, exactly! You can just call me Anakin in private, and ‘Padawan Skywalker’ when we’re around anyone who would care about ‘protocol.’”

“...if that’s what you’d like, sir,” Cody said, resisting the urge to tell him that  _ Cody  _ cared about protocol. Padawan Skywalker-- _ Anakin,  _ how many times was he going to have to mentally rename him?--snorted.

“Calling me ‘sir’ kind of defeats the purpose of my request, Cody,” he said, and held his hand out for the optical port, examining the soldering. “That’s really clean.”

“Thank you, si--” Anakin looked up, glaring at him, and Cody paused. “Anakin.” The  _ Jetii  _ beamed at him before turning back to the droid.

“Heard you missed dinner with the others,” ‘67 said lightly, and Anakin tensed. “Some of the CTs have a later dinner block, since we also eat breakfast and lunch later. You could come with us, if you want.”

“Thanks, but… I’m not hungry,” Anakin muttered, his expression darkening to a glower.

‘67 sighed. “Yeah. When I get stressed out, I have trouble eating, too.”

“So do I,” Cody admitted quietly. Anakin nodded, but said nothing for a while, and they worked in silence until he finally spoke up again.

“It’s just… I worry about him. Master Obi-Wan, I mean,” Anakin said without looking up. “I thought… When I first got to the Temple, he spent as much time with me as he could, until he started going on missions, and a lot of those were  _ dangerous.  _ I always worried about him, and I thought that when I became his Padawan, I’d get to go  _ with him  _ so I could actually  _ do something to help,  _ but he keeps leaving me behind! Like Concord Dawn--he left me behind, and I  _ get it,  _ but he  _ almost died,  _ and I wasn’t there, and there was nothing I could do! And I know wherever he’s going now is dangerous, too, because he refuses to  _ take me with him!  _ I’m his  _ Padawan,  _ I’m  _ supposed _ to be there with him--”

“Anakin,” Cody said gently, but firmly, though he wasn’t looking at the other boy--instead, he was staring in concern at the droid parts that were now floating around them.

“What?” Anakin snapped, finally looking up, and then he flushed. “Oh,  _ karking Sithspit. _ ” He closed his eyes, and the parts gently lowered to the floor again.

“I’m sure he wants to take you with him,” Cody said softly, and then he frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, that’s not right. He’d prefer not to have to go at all. I’m sure General Kenobi wishes that there  _ weren’t  _ any dangerous situations that require the  _ Jetiise,  _ but there are. And he’s… like your  _ buir,  _ right?”

Anakin actually chuckled at that. “He says he’s too young to be my  _ buir,  _ and he calls me  _ vod’ika  _ instead of  _ ad. _ ”

“Then I absolutely understand what he’s thinking,” Cody sighed. “I’m from one of the oldest batches. Nearly every  _ vod  _ is my  _ vod’ika.  _ And trust me, if I could find some way to guarantee that they’d all be safe, I’d do whatever I could to make it happen, even if that meant that I had to go charging into danger. He just wants you to be safe.”

“But what about  _ him?  _ Who’s watching  _ his  _ back? I know, I know, Master Qui-Gon is going with him, too, but… Master Qui-Gon’s never really been the same, after he got injured on Naboo,” Anakin sighed. “And I just… I  _ know  _ I’m young, and there’s still a lot that I have left to learn, but I’m strong in the Force, and I’m a  _ Jedi.  _ It’s what we  _ do,  _ what we’re  _ meant  _ to do.”

“And we’re soldiers,” ‘67 returned. “We’re meant to face danger, too. But the way you feel about him being in danger is the  _ exact same way  _ he feels about  _ you  _ being in danger. General Kenobi is an adult, and a  _ General.  _ He knows what’s an acceptable risk, and what’s not.”

“And I’m not an acceptable risk,” Anakin sighed. “It’s… it’s not just that. I  _ understand  _ that, I really do, it just… It still makes me so  _ mad.  _ But there’s something else. I don’t know  _ where  _ the Council is sending him, but I think I know what the mission is. They’re trying to get Trilla back.”

“Trilla?” Cody asked, frowning at him.

“My friend’s daughter. I met Jinto when we were on Naboo the first time, a few years ago. He’s--he  _ was _ a pilot in the Royal Guard. We flew together, when I blew up the droid control ship,” Anakin told them. Cody and ‘67 shared a wide-eyed glance at each other before turning back to him.

“You blew up a Lucrehulk-class droid control ship? How  _ old _ were you?” ‘67 asked, sounding faintly awed.

“Uh, I was nine then, almost ten,” Anakin answered sheepishly. “And I didn’t even  _ mean _ to do it, but the Force guided me anyway. But Jinto… We were on Naboo again, right before we came here, and they were attacked. Jinto and his wife were killed, and his daughter went missing.”

“Trilla,” Cody said again, though it was a grim statement now rather than a question. “How old was she?”

“Five.”

“... _ osik, _ ” ‘67 breathed. Cody couldn’t even bring himself to reprimand him for his language--that was… awful.

“Yeah. So that’s… Jinto was  _ my  _ friend, and Trilla is Force-sensitive--we’re talking… she could be a  _ Jedi _ levels of Force-sensitive--and I feel like it’s my duty to help find her,” Anakin said.

“That much,” Cody said firmly, “we can agree on. But there’s more than one way to skin a shatual. You don’t have to go along to help them with this. We can find another way.”

Anakin frowned at him thoughtfully, still wary but a bit of hope beginning to bleed into his expression. “How?”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a pretty good slicer--it’s how I got my name,” Cody explained, and Anakin blinked at him. “Forewarned is forearmed. Intel is half the battle. So let’s see what we can find for them.”

“We’d have to figure out where they’re going first,” Anakin pointed out, and ‘67 laughed outright at that.

“Isn’t that what you were going to use this mouse droid for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Anakin flushed. “Then let’s eavesdrop, try to find out where they’re going, and then we can look for chatter about what they might find there.” And  _ that _ was an uncomfortable proposition,  _ spying  _ on their Generals, but… if they didn’t help Anakin, Cody knew full well he would do it anyway, and they probably wouldn’t be able to stop him, or maybe he  _ would _ even try to stowaway on General Kenobi’s ship, and Cody and ‘67 had  _ promised _ the General they’d keep him safe… 

Cody was going to have to choose the least awful of several bad options here.

“I’ll help you, if you promise me that you won’t try to follow them,” Cody said, fixing Anakin with a serious look, the one that Wolffe called his ‘Commander face.’ Anakin nodded slowly.

“Alright. I promise not to sneak onto Master Obi-Wan’s ship,” Anakin said, holding his gaze for a moment. Cody nodded, satisfied, and they turned back to the droid. “How’d you know I was planning on following them, anyway?”

“It’s what I would want to do,” Cody admitted, thinking about  _ buir  _ and  _ ba’vodu,  _ and how she’d suggested that they might be capable of stowing away without being caught, and how much he wished he’d  _ done it _ after she’d said that. “But… I think it’ll be better if we just find another way to help them. We’re all cadets--we don’t have the skills, yet, the training and the practice, to help them, if it is going to be dangerous. We’d just be a liability, and a distraction. That’s… I realized that, after  _ buir _ and  _ ba’vodu  _ came back from Concord Dawn.”

Anakin stared at him for a long moment, and then he nodded slowly, his shoulder slumping in defeat. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ I think you’re right. It’s just… I’m  _ severely annoyed  _ about it.”

“Anyone would be,” ‘67 said with a shrug. “It’s always rough to have someone you care about in danger, especially when you can’t help. But that’s part of life, and all we can do is try to find the ways that we  _ can _ help.”

“Well,” Anakin sighed, “I guess we can start by finishing this droid. Can you please hand me the--?” He cut himself off with a slow grin as ‘67 held out the audio chip, already re-wired. “ _ Vor’e. _ ”

Maybe this mission would be a bit more fun than he’d assumed, Cody thought with a small smile. And maybe he could actually get Anakin to stay put, and keep him  _ relatively  _ out of trouble.  _ Ka’ra _ knew he’d do everything he could to make it happen--this was his first mission from  _ his _ General, after all. Cody was determined not to kriff this up--one way or another, he and ‘67 would keep Anakin Skywalker  _ safe. _


	24. Yoda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, guys, I'm not super happy with this chapter. I kept rewriting different scenes and deleting them and coming back to this, because some of these things just have to happen to set up other plot points, but, yeah.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all like it more than I do, LOL!

Hawk Clan was visiting the Room of a Thousand Fountains for their meditation today. Yoda watched from his perch, half-hidden by the branches and leaves of the tree he was resting in, smiling as he saw the older Initiates dutifully helping their creche Master to herd the younglings--though to _him,_ they all looked like younglings, even the creche Master. They settled down beneath his tree, forming a circle, and Yoda hummed thoughtfully. It would be rude to allow them to use this space to meditate without alerting them to his presence.

Nodding to himself, he grabbed his gimmer stick and hopped down, landing softly in the grass beside their Rodian creche Master, Altoon, smiling softly at the children as some of them startled.

“Greetings, younglings.”

“Hello, Master Yoda!” the children called back in unison, smiling back at him now that they had gotten over their surprise.

“Woken from my nap at a good time, I have, hmm? Meditate with you, may I?”

“Yes, Master!” they agreed eagerly, and his smile grew. He nodded and sat down beside Master Altoon, who nodded to him in turn, also smiling.

“Know what to do, you do. Close your eyes-- _feel,_ in the Force, the life around you. The lives of your Clan mates, of the trees, the grass. How the Force binds you to all other life, you must _feel._ ”

Yoda closed his eyes, smiling at the bright lights of the children around him, most of them radiating _concentration_ more than serenity as they struggled to make their way deeper into meditation. Slowly, he reached out, and one by one, helped Master Altoon to guide them deeper into the currents of the Force, until they had all managed at least a light trance.

Satisfied, he turned his attention inward. Part of what he had told the younglings was true: this group meditation _had_ been well-timed, although Yoda had hardly been napping. No, Yan would have accused him of _brooding,_ though he was just as bad as Yoda was about such things.

Taking a deep breath, he emptied his mind of all other sensations and concerns but the Force and this one call that had burned in the back of his mind for years, now: **_change_ ** _._

The Order had to change, that much was clear. The Committee was suggesting changes, and some of them Yoda even approved of. But not all, and, he _feared,_ not _enough._

Yoda had never been an advocate for change. The end of the great Sith War had left the Order shaken, and they had _changed_ in response, leading to the Ruusan Reformation. That change, he understood. He, and so many others, had thought there to be little harm in being _cautious._ But they had been _overly_ so, apparently, and the changes they had made were leading to their own slow decay--death by numbers. They were so _few_ , now, even compared to just a century ago, two centuries ago.

Yes, something had to change. But Yoda _doubted_ that he was the right man to lead them through this. Mace may have been the Master of the Order, but Yoda was fully aware of his own position, and the high esteem in which the Jedi all held him. They would look to him for advice, they would look to him to set the tone for how certain changes would be received, and enacted, or rejected.

He did not know if he should be the one wielding that sort of power--not this time. Yoda was _old,_ and yes, he was _wise,_ but when the beliefs he had held--about the Order, about the galaxy, and about _himself_ \--for _centuries_ were in question, and with such dire consequences, if they failed to choose the right course…

Yoda was _old,_ and he felt it. He was so _entrenched_ in the traditions that the Ruusan Reformation had established--when he had joined the Order, it had been only a little more than two hundred years after the Reformation. There had been few of them left, by then, who had actually fought in the Great Sith War, but even a few had been enough. As a youngling himself, most of the stories he had been told that he now remembered had come from those old Masters. He had listened and watched them carefully as they had hung their heads in shame, describing what war did to the Jedi, describing how they had Fallen, and his knowledge that that was what Jedi were meant to _stand against,_ rather than _become,_ had been deeply entrenched--as had an inherent _fear_ of that possibility. And they had all thought that the reforms of the Reformation would, if followed, keep the Jedi in the Light, that they would keep the Order safe, and the galaxy safe _from them._

The angry, bitter feeling that rose up startled him as he thought-- _safe from us, the galaxy will be, if no more, the Jedi are._

He took a breath, and let the anger go, carried off into the Force. His fellows, those afflicted by a twice-life, had warned him of this. They had seen it, they had _lived it--_ the dissolution of the Jedi Order itself.

This was where the Ruusan Reformation had led them. This was where Yoda’s carefully taught and even more carefully ingrained beliefs and policies and rigid rules had gotten them, and the Force’s will was clear--clearer than he could remember it having been in _centuries_.

**_Change. Survive._ **

Sighing, he opened his eyes, looking at the younglings starting to stumble their way back to full consciousness. He smiled gently at them, one after another, meeting their gazes, and then he nodded to them all.

“Thank you. A good meditation, that was.”

* * *

**_Change is coming._ **

Yoda sighed as he opened his eyes, pushing himself up from the pile of cushions he used as a bed and stretching. Grabbing his gimmer stick, he used an admittedly frivolous application of the Force to turn on the stove burner to heat his morning tea. Perhaps he would have the rubaroot tea this morning--it would certainly help with the ache that had settled into his back decades ago that even the Healers could not quite fix, though he did not blame them. There was often little to be done, even for Jedi, about the aches and pains of age, particularly when one was over eight-hundred years old _._

**_Change._ **

“Heard you, I did,” Yoda muttered, his eyes narrowing. The Force seemed to sigh at him, and he waved a hand as if to swat it away. The humming, almost-breezy-yet-intangible sensation pulled back. He sighed again, waiting for the water to boil, idly tapping his stick on the floor; the water had not even begun to steam when his commlink chirped at him. Frowning, he answered it. “Yes?”

“Good morning, Master,” Mace greeted him. “I have an update on the situation with the missing girl, Trilla Suduri, if you’re available.”

“Tea, I am going to have. Join me, you may,” Yoda answered. Mace hesitated for just a moment, and Yoda smiled to himself. He was well aware that most other Jedi found his tea to be completely unpalatable, but it was hardly _his_ fault the Order was human and near-human dominant.

“Thank you, Master. I’ll be there shortly.”

Yoda had just finished the tea and set two mugs on the low table when Mace appeared, not bothering to knock. He waved his stick at a cushion, and Mace eyed the tea warily, but obediently sat.

“About the youngling, tell me.”

Mace nodded, taking a tentative sip of the tea and grimacing only faintly before setting it down and beginning to speak. “Knight Kenobi and Master Jinn are going to the Carrion sector.”

Yoda hummed. “Some time, it will take them. Across the galaxy, they are.”

“Yes. But we have no one else nearer who would be… up to this sort of assignment,” Mace said, looking troubled. Yoda’s ears drooped, but he nodded. “We warned them that this is most likely a trap, but you know those two.”

Yoda let out a _hmph,_ narrowing his eyes, his ears flicking forward briefly. “Yes, yes. ‘Spring the trap,’ they will.”

“Yes.”

“And Padawan Skywalker?” Yoda asked, picking up his own tea, letting the bitter bite settle on his tongue.

“His mother is with them on Kamino. He will be entrusted to her care until they return,” Mace said. Yoda nodded, his ears perking back up.

“Good, good. Time together, I sense the Force wishes them to have,” Yoda said. “Long, it may be, after this, before see each other again, they do.”

Mace nodded slowly. “Knight Vos and Padawan Secura feel that they are closing in on Lady Suduri’s killer.”

“Good news, this also is. Troubled, why are you?”

“I think that Obi-Wan is right,” Mace said, reverting to more personal terms now that the formal briefing had been mostly finished. Yoda hummed a wordless question and pricked his ears up, prompting him to continue as he drank more of his tea. “Even if we get proof that the Sith were directly involved, we can’t use it. Not yet, when it would leave us with no leads as to the other’s identity.”

“Always two, there are,” Yoda murmured noncommittally. He had questioned his Great-Grand-Padawan’s decision, wanting to hold back evidence that may help them topple one of their ancient enemies, but eventually bowed to the boy’s wisdom--for all that he _looked_ like a boy, Yoda had truly _seen him,_ after Naboo. That was a Master trapped in the body of a younger man, and he had wisdom and knowledge Yoda had not been granted by the Force.

**_Change._ **

“About Obi-Wan, I also wished to speak,” Yoda said abruptly. Mace frowned at him.

“Oh?”

“Coming, great _change_ is,” Yoda said, and the Force wrapped around him, soothing peace and comfort rather than needling, insistent whispers. This _was_ its Will, then. He nodded to himself. “Yes, change we _must._ Clear, that is. Look to me, many of you younglings do. Looked to me for a long time, you all have. Yes--a long time. Perhaps too long.”

“Master--”

“Finished, I am _not,_ ” Yoda said, giving him a mild glare. Mace glowered at him, but quieted and waved a hand in invitation for him to continue. “If support these changes, _I_ do not, support these changes, many _others_ will not. _Needed,_ these changes are. Clear, the Force has been. Clearer than it has been, yes. Support these changes, I will.

“See the Council through the results of the Committee, I shall. Then retire, I will.”

“ _Retire?_ ” Mace repeated. “Master, you are still needed--”

“ _Dramatic_ , there is no need to be, hmm? Leaving the Order, I will not be, youngling,” Yoda sighed, and Mace pursed his lips, though he knew better than to protest the remark on his age. “Useful, I will make myself. _Idle,_ I am not meant to be--idle, _no_ Jedi is meant to be, hmm? But too long have I sat on the Council. Know the workings of our Order, of the Republic’s politics, I do. But know the Order’s members as well as I once did, I do _not._ Know the galaxy outside of our sphere, I do not. _Disconnected,_ I have become.”

His ears drooped, his eyes downcast to his tea, and the Force caressed the top of his head, the whisps of his hair, in comfort.

“Master…” Mace trailed off, and then sighed. “You’re decided on this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I understand,” Mace said, his voice gentle. “If you believe this is best, I will support you.”

“My thanks, you have.”

“But what does that have to do with Obi-Wan?” Mace asked. Yoda looked up at him, an impish smile crossing his face.

“ _Hmph._ More intelligent than that, I thought you were.”

Mace’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not certain he would agree to a seat on the Council at this point, let alone taking _your_ permanent position.”

“Need it, he does,” Yoda answered simply. “Many burdens, he carries, and much knowledge. Change things, he can--this we have seen already, hmm? The ability to _act,_ the ability to _lead--_ these he has always had. Need him, we do. And need the power of my seat, he does.”

Mace frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“In time, you will,” Yoda hummed. “Yes, in time. Lead us, he was _meant_ to. Sense this when he was but a youngling, I did.”

Mace stared at him for a moment, and then sighed. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you, about… our past lives. Obi-Wan was against it, but I think you need to know before you move forward with this decision.” Yoda hummed and waved a hand, reaching for his tea. Mace caught his hand instead, staring straight at him. “We told the rest of the Council that the Order was attacked and the Jedi labelled traitors to the Republic, and therefore disbanded. That much is true, but we… severely understated the state of the Order after those attacks. By the end, there were only two Jedi in the galaxy still willing to claim the title, rather than abandoning the Jedi way for their own survival. You were one, and Obi-Wan was the other.”

Yoda found that he had nothing to say to that. He did not doubt the honesty of Mace’s words, the Force around him screaming with horrified, pained _truth,_ but… What was he meant to say to that? He had not lived through the deaths of his family, not here and now. Not as they had.

Nor, if he were honest with himself, could he even imagine it. The galaxy without the Jedi Order…

“Relevant, why is this?” Yoda asked finally. Mace frowned at him, squeezing his hand gently.

“Obi-Wan was on the High Council, at that point. One of our best. He… still feels an enormous amount of guilt. He believes that having had such a position, he should have been able to do _more._ ”

“His greatest failing, that has always been,” Yoda answered simply. “But also his greatest strength. Never believing he has done his best--to learn more, to be better, it has always driven him. But torture himself, he does.”

Mace sighed, finally releasing his hand. “That he does. I do not know if he will accept your offer, given the guilt he still harbors. He may not think himself worthy.”

“Speak to him, I will, when return to the Temple, he does. Accept, he will.” Mace’s eyes narrowed again, his lips pressed into a thin line, and Yoda gave him a smile before using a light touch of the Force to push his mug closer to him. “Your tea, you should finish.”

* * *

The salt lamps had just come on in the Council Chamber, the Coruscant sky outside paling to a light, dusky purple, and Yoda smiled as he stared out at the skyline. Coruscant may not be as rich in the Living Force as he might have wished, but there was beauty to be found all the same, when one looked for it--a perspective his lineage did not seem to have gained. They were all most comfortable in the field, away from the Temple itself--a sad and concerning trend, he thought. For a Jedi to be more comfortable _away_ from their home than in it, surrounded by their brothers and sisters… 

“Our last item for today,” Adi began, and Yoda chuckled at the feelings of _relief_ leaking through tired, thinning shields from his fellow Councilors, returning his attention to them. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he waved his gimmer stick in invitation. “Masters Keetha, of the Temple of Eedit, and Mon Tok, of the Chandrilan Temple, have requested an audience. They are waiting for us whenever we are ready for them.”

A general consensus of agreement echoed in the Force along with a round of nodding, and Adi tapped at her datapad before placing it back into the pocket built into the side of her chair, folding her hands in her lap as they waited. The doors opened quickly, the Council Padawan on duty prompt, and the two Masters entered. Yoda sat up a bit straighter as he took in the _determination-hope_ curling around them in the Force.

“Masters.” They both bowed, standing side-by-side, and the Councilors nodded back.

“Master Keetha, Master Mon Tok. What may we do for you?” Adi asked, smiling gently at them.

“The Committee’s business is nearly complete--the full recommendations will be submitted tomorrow, after Master Jinn has sent back his final thoughts,” Keetha said, tucking her green, scaled hands into the sleeves of her robes. She was part-reptilian, and Yoda had quickly realized that she would not be used to the foods the refectory served, catering mostly to humans and near-humans. He had sought her out and shared many fine frog stews with her. He might even go so far as to call her a friend. “And the time will come for us to leave Coruscant. But neither of us wishes to leave alone.”

“Oh?” Adi prompted.

“I’m certain you have heard that we’ve been spending a great deal of time in the creche,” Mon Tok spoke up. “Both of us believe that we have found our next Padawans among the Initiates there.”

“...I see,” Adi said. Yoda hummed softly, feeling the other Councilors reaching out to each other through the Force, trying to get a sense of where they stood on the proposition. For a Jedi of one Temple to take a Padawan from among another Temple’s Initiates simply wasn’t _done._

But… neither was it _forbidden._

**_Change._ **

Yoda nodded to himself and reached out to click his stick against the floor, drawing attention to himself. He smiled at the two of them. “All Jedi, we are. Good Jedi, _you_ are. Good Masters, you make. If the will of the Force it is, for our Initiates to become Jedi Knights at your sides, honored, they should be.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda. Your words are kind, and appreciated,” Keetha said, giving him a broad, easy smile, revealing her sharp teeth and forked tongue. He nodded, smiling back.

“That we are from different Temples is… not the only obstacle to our request,” Mon Tok added slowly. “One of the propositions of the Committee is to repeal the Rule of One.”

A ripple of discontent and shock rang through the Force at that, and both Master Keetha and Master Mon Tok winced at the sudden outpouring. Yoda frowned and tapped his stick again, harder than before.

“Changes, we asked them to propose,” he snapped. “Give them limits, we did _not._ Change, they are suggesting. Hear them, we _must._ Owe it to them, and the work they have done for us, we do.”

“Thank you,” Mon Tok murmured. “There is a set of Tholothian twins, in the creche, that I have felt a connection to. I do not believe that the Force wants them separated at this point, and they seem to agree. They have resigned themselves to the Corps--they do wish to be Jedi Knights, but they have already made peace with the fact that following the Force’s will would lead them away from the path of Knighthood, if the Rule of One is not repealed.”

“You refer to Tari and Dari Stahl; I know them well. They are both adept pilots, and would do well in the ExploraCorps,” Plo Koon hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Though I do sense great potential in them. But they are near to aging out.”

“Ah,” Keetha sighed. “That is another… suggestion of the Committee, doing away with that rule as well.”

“We can discuss that later,” Mace sighed. “For now, Master Keetha, please tell us who your prospective Padawans are.”

“Chen Wei and Ferus Olin. Also near the age-out limit.”

Yoda frowned. He had intended Ferus Olin for Siri Tachi, and opened his mouth to say so when he received a swift reprimand from the Force-- **_change._ **

Sighing, he nodded to himself and looked up. “Observe them with the younglings, we should. If the will of the Force, this is, sense it, we will. Perhaps prove the Committee’s assertions, it may.”

“I also move to immediately suspend any Corps reassignments due to the age limits, at least until further decisions are made,” Plo added.

“All in favor?” Mace asked. Seven Masters raised their hands, Yoda included, and he nodded. “Very well. Master Keetha, Master Mon Tok: we will arrange a time for several of us to meet with you in the creche, to observe your interactions with the younglings. We will revisit the matter after that. Rest assured, we will not send them away to the Corps in the meantime.”

The Masters bowed. “Thank you.”

 **_Change,_ **the Force called again, but this time, it was like a contented sigh. Yoda sighed along with it, though far less contently.

* * *

It was not often, anymore, that Yoda visited the Temple’s lower levels. Even in his own youth, most of these passageways and halls had fallen into disuse long ago, _ancient_ even then. But there was one hall where he had meditated often, and the Force felt… clearer, there, than in many other parts of the Temple. It was just above the Wellspring, the Masters had explained to him in hushed, reverent whispers. Rarely did Jedi visit the Wellspring itself, and so this hall was the closest they could get, usually.

The hall was still and quiet, dark in the flickering emergency lights as Yoda entered. He had left his hoverchair near the entrance to the hall, refusing to sully the space with its distracting hum. He needed peace, and stillness, for this meditation.

Walking toward the center of the room, his shuffling steps and the rhythmic tapping of his gimmer stick the only sounds, Yoda waved his free hand, using the Force to clear away some of the dust, settling down on the bare stone. He set his stick down beside him and took a breath, closing his eyes.

He had heard of Force ghosts, of course, though even seven hundred years ago, they were widely considered a myth. “ _Into the Force, Jedi go,_ ” his teachers had said. “ _Retain individual consciousness, they do not._ ”

And, for the most part, Yoda had found that to be true. He could _feel,_ when a Jedi’s body died, the way that their spirit would release itself into the Force, creating a new thread among the billions that strung across the galaxy. They weren’t individuals, anymore, although they were with the Force, and therefore with those they left behind, always.

But he had heard what Obi-Wan said. “ _Much of my knowledge of the future is… spotty, at best. I died about halfway through all that I remember, and when one is a Force ghost, time and space begin to mean very little. Exact locations and dates are lost to me, though I recall the events themselves rather well._ ”

So it could be done, and had been done. Yoda had always suspected that to be true, as all things were possible with the Force. And his Great-Grand-Padawan was many things, but he was not a liar.

Yoda turned his attention to what he actually sought from the Force. He did not expect the Masters of his childhood to have become Force ghosts, but that did not mean that he could not try to seek them specifically within the Force, and what remained of their spirits in those shimmering threads. He projected his memories of the bonds he had once had with them, before they had unravelled with their deaths, the ends fraying off into the Force itself until they slowly withered and faded from his mind. Yoda focused on what he remembered of their Force presences, shining, but somehow muddled, almost like Mace, and his Mastery of his own Darkness. Those Masters, too, had conquered Darkness, rather than rejecting it entirely. They had been _forced_ to--there was no way to cling to the Light while waging a war. War itself was Dark--that was its nature.

It took some time, but eventually, Yoda found the threads he was looking for, and turned his focus to his questions.

He _knew_ what the Committee was going to suggest. He was no stranger to Qui-Gon, and they saw each other often. He knew what changes the Committee was considering, his Grand-Padawan having been all to happy to discuss it with him, and the implications of _failure_ and _hubris_ in those who had personally taught _him_ were… galling.

The Rule of One. The age limits. Their relationship to the Republic, and the Senate. The very nature of _attachment._

It was that last suggestion that inspired the cold _fear_ that had taken up residence at the nape of his neck, tingling down his spine. Attachment led to Falls. The inability to _let go_ defined both attachment and what prompted the first steps towards the Dark Side. And Yoda may have become disconnected from the galaxy at large, but there were some things that would never change, no matter how much time passed, and one thing was certain: most sentients could _not_ let go of their attachments. For most sentients, that was fine, it was safe--perhaps even _good,_ at times. It formed community-based societies, and fostered compassion.

But for Force-users… For _Jedi…_

 _Change, I recognize we need. But the_ **_right_ ** _changes, are these?_

The Force swirled around him, the threads he recognized as having been molded by his teachers shining brighter than the rest, and Yoda’s ears drooped as he received his answer.

**_Try._ **

_Do, or do not,_ he returned, feeling a flare of irritation. Yoda took another breath and surrendered it, humbling himself again.

 **_Try,_ ** the Force urged him again. **_Try to change._ **

**_Change._ **

**_Change--_ **

* * *

Yoda stared at the datapad in his lap, knowing that he was indulging his own _anxiety_ and _fear_ as he waited to read its contents.

But there was no time to dwell on such things; this was no time for ego. _Change_ was no longer coming; it was here. Sighing, he gave the feelings to the Force and powered on the ‘pad.

_Recommendations for the New Reformation of the Jedi Order, authored by the Multi-Temple Committee, hosted by the Coruscant Temple in the year 7948 C.R.C._

_Many may see this document as an attack on the traditions of an ancient institution. That is not our intent, as we have the utmost respect for the Jedi of the Ruusan Reformation, and what their intentions were at that time. They could never have imagined, even with the aid of the Force, what results their decisions would bring._

_The Jedi Order is dying. One thousand years ago, there were millions of Force-users who counted themselves among the Jedi. Today, there are fewer than one-hundred thousand, across all of the Jedi Temples in the galaxy (see attached document #1: Republic Senate Census and Tax Records, 7947 C.R.C., Jedi Order)._

_Saving the Jedi Order after the Ruusan Reformation focused on saving its members from Falling and creating another Sith Order, and saving the Jedi Order from the galaxy at large, and their reputation as a military force, rather than a religious order._

_They were seekers, not saints, just as we are, and shall always be. Their good intentions led to our own need for salvation, from a slow decay into nothingness. But we acknowledge what they needed to correct was important. Previous interpretations of the Code, and the Force, had led to Falls to the Dark Side._

_Therefore, our recommendations will focus on the same three aspects the Ruusan Reformation addressed: rebuilding and restoring the Jedi Order, preventing Falls, and the nature of our relationship with the wider galaxy._

Yoda flicked the ‘pad off as an idea formed, rising from his cushion, the Force urging him on. **_Go to them. Go. Bring change._ **

“Hear you, I do.”

* * *

His Padawan did not look well, Yoda noted with a small flare of displeasure. He looked pale and even thinner than usual, his eyes shadowed, his shoulders tense.

“Master.” He received a nod as Yan stepped to the side, silently inviting him into his quarters. Yoda shook his head.

“With me, you will come.” Yan inclined his head again, turning back to summon his cloak to his hands, pulling it on quickly before moving to follow Yoda’s hoverpod. He did not ask where they were going, and Yoda found himself grateful for his old student’s familiarity with him; he realized that if Yoda offered no explanation, he would not get one.

They moved in silence down to the lower levels, Yan tensing further and further as they moved towards Komari’s room. Yoda nodded to the two Temple Guards on either side of the door, receiving no acknowledgement, though he expected none.

“I should not see her.”

“You must,” Yoda murmured. “Come, Padawan.”

He felt a flare of confused, roiling emotion in the Force as Yan let it leave him, and then he drew himself up and nodded. The door opened.

Komari was not as Yoda had remembered her. Before Galidraan, she had been bright. Hopeful. Never cheerful, at least not openly, but demure, and dignified--traits that had drawn Yan’s attention in the first place. Their partnership had been far smoother than Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship had been--in Komari, he finally had the student that he could mould into another iteration of _himself._

That she had Fallen, and that Yan had, in some other time and place, was a parallel that disturbed him.

Now, Komari was… sullen. She, too, was paler than she should be, and there were dark circles under her sickly yellow eyes. Yoda knew from the reports they were given that she did not sleep much, and refused to eat often. She sat up on her bed, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Grand-Master,” Komari said, her tone mocking as she bowed her head. “You’ve finally come to see me yourself. What an honor.”

“Come to you sooner, I should have, perhaps, Grand-Padawan,” Yoda replied, no animosity in his tone at the title, directing his hoverchair closer to the bed and gesturing with his stick for Yan to take the chair. He sat stiffly, staring at Komari, though she refused to acknowledge him. “But now, the Force has prompted me.” With that, he held the datapad out to Yan. “Read, please, Padawan. Aloud.”

Frowning, Yan powered up the ‘pad and began to read. “‘ _Recommendations for the New Reformation of the Jedi Order, authored by the Multi-Temple Committee, hosted by the Coruscant Temple in the year 7948 C.R.C._

 _Many may see this document as an attack on the traditions of an ancient institution--_ ’”

“What is this?” Komari spat, interrupting him. Yoda met her glare and smiled gently, though his ears fell.

“Understand your anger at the Order, I do,” he murmured. “Acknowledging our faults, we are. Wish to show you that, I do. Read, please, Padawan.”

Komari fell silent as Yan read, and Yoda sank back, pressing the bottoms of his feet together in front of him, listening intently. He found it difficult to hear over the steady thrum of the Force in his ears, beating a drum that sounded **_change-change-change._ **

* * *

It took only twenty minutes for Yan to finish reading the document itself, though there were many pages of attached source material and statistics after their recommendations--including a transcript of Yan’s own description of Galidraan. The trio sat in silence, Komari’s Force-dampening medication meaning that she was all but unreadable in the Force, though Yoda could clearly feel Yan’s _shock-hope-awe_.

“Much to discuss, you two have. Leave you, I will,” Yoda declared, summoning the datapad back to his hand. They both shot him nearly-identical looks of narrow-eyed suspicion and displeasure, and he couldn’t contain his cackle at that. “Still much alike, you two are. Yes. Common ground, you should seek to find. See you again, I will, Grand-Padawan, Padawan.”

“Master--”

He ignored Yan’s call, directing the hoverchair through the open door, peering down at the datapad.

**_Change. Bring change._ **

Nodding to himself, Yoda headed for the Temple communications hub. It was a hive of activity, as it always was, Knights and Padawans watched over by a few Masters manning the comm stations. They mostly took reports from Jedi who were out in the field, though they also handled the few incoming transmissions they received directly from those who thought to ask for the Order’s aid; only Senate transmissions were handled in a different center, closer to the Council spire.

A human girl, an younger Padawan, judging by her height and the length of her brown braid, stiffened as she saw him. “Master Yoda!” She bowed hastily, and Yoda nodded deeply in return. He felt a pang of sorrow and guilt as he realized he did not know her name--there was a time when he had known _everyone_ within the Temple, even when there had been so many more of them. “What may I do for you?”

“Still functional, the beacon system is, hmm?” he hummed. It was an old protocol, one they had not used, other than in testing, since the last Sith War. It was a protocol that could send a message to every registered Jedi communicator, datapad, and terminal, regardless of what Temple they were with, or where they were, though obviously the farther from the Core they were, the longer it would take for the message to reach them.

“Yes, Master. Is… Is something wrong?” the padawan asked, eyes wide with worry. Yoda shook his head, smiling gently at her.

“No, Padawan. But an important message to all Jedi, we must send.”

“Yes, Master. What message?”

Yoda held out the datapad, and she hesitated before taking it, holding it gingerly as though it were an artefact of some great importance, rather than a standard-issue datapad. He cackled again--oh, the earnestness of _younglings._

“Great change, there will be. Ready, are you?” The youngling’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, almost panicked. “Ready, I thought I was not. But ready, we _must_ be. Now, the time is. Coming, great _change_ is.”

“...yes, Master.”

“Good. The transmission, you must send. And Padawan?”

“Yes, Master?”

“The Corps, you must include. Jedi, they are, though too often not seen as such.”

“...of course, Master.”

* * *

Yoda did not hide, after that. He knew that his fellow Councilors--and likely many other Jedi besides--would be looking for him, after they received the alert, and had read through it. He had gone straight from the communications hub to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, laughing to himself under his breath as he heard the repeated, shrill beeping of each commlink and datapad receiving the high-priority alert, the Jedi in the gardens pulled from their meditations. Though the alert was rarely used, its tones were played for all Jedi during its testing cycles, so that they might know if it _were_ ever used, and what that sound signalled.

He closed his eyes and delved into the Force, feeling the swirling emotions of those around them as they read. From some of the older Masters, there was a heavy hint of _disapproval-shock-doubt,_ and from some of the older Initiates, _hope-awe-fear._ The younglings did not understand, beyond the feelings of _concern-hope-doubt-fear-anger-joy-excitement_ all mingling in the Force around them.

It did not take long before he was approached, and Yoda was not surprised to feel the familiar presences of Mace, Plo, and Ki-Adi surrounding him, slowly sitting down beside him.

“What did you _do?_ ” Mace sighed, and Yoda opened his eyes, cackling again.

“These changes, I promised to support,” he said, grinning widely. The Force was swirling around him, urging him on, assuring him that this was **_right-right-right-yes-bring-change_ ** , and the blank stares of his three friends meant little in the face of the Force’s own excitement and wonder. “The Grand-Master of the Order, I am--and a specific code, I have. Used it, I did, to send the alert. Know, all Jedi will, that came from _me,_ it did. My support, I have given.” Glancing at Ki-Adi, and then Plo, he bowed his head. “My last act as Grand-Master, this is. Stepping down from the Council, I am.”

“ _Now?_ ” Mace growled. “Master Yoda, please, he needs more time--”

“Time, we do not have,” Yoda answered simply, the words clipped, almost harsh. “Time, you thought you had before.” Mace flinched, and Yoda softened, his ears twitching. “Tell me that often, you do. The time for _change--_ **_now,_ ** it is. _Debate,_ endlessly, our Council does. Guilty of feeding that habit, I am. But no more-- _clear,_ the Force is. _Act,_ we must. _Act,_ this will force us to.”

There was a long moment of silence, and it was Ki-Adi who broke it. “You truly intend to step down now?”

“Yes.”

“But surely to have you with us, helping to oversee the transitions we will have to undertake, would be more helpful?” he asked, and Yoda shook his head.

“ _Support_ these changes, I promised to,” Yoda said. “The will of the Force, that was. But _agree_ with all of them, I cannot. Too ingrained are my old teachings. _Change_ we need, but _change,_ I fear, _I_ cannot so easily. No. Need me, the Council no longer does.” Ki-Adi’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Yoda shook his head, his ears flapping in agitation. “ _No._ Need me, the _Order_ does. Need the galaxy, _I_ do. Need the Council, I do not. Need _me,_ the _Council_ does not. Passed, my time has. Lead the Order, I can no longer.”

“You lied, you know,” Mace sighed. “Your last act as Grand-Master is going to be to name the replacement for your permanent seat.”

“I have a feeling I know who that might be,” Plo said, his tone and the cant of his head indicating amusement. “And he will not thank you for it.”

* * *

The rest of the Council was just as shocked and borderline-displeased with his actions as Mace, Ki-Adi, and Plo had been, though most of them were fighting back their irritation, their respect for him demanding that they hear his defense before passing judgement.

He gave them the same explanation he had offered Ki-Adi, Mace, and Plo: “Promised to support these changes, I did. Needed, I acknowledge that they are. But change, _I_ cannot. Taught by those who enacted the Ruusan Reformation, I was. Abandon their teachings easily, I cannot. _Old,_ I am. Disconnected, I have become. Lead you, I no longer can. Support these changes, I _did._ Force us to act on these suggestions, I have. My duty, I have fulfilled. Resigning from the Council, I now am.”

“Master--”

He brought his gimmer stick down _hard_ on the mosaic tile and silence fell. “Finished, I am _not._ To name my successor to the Council, my final act shall be. Nominate Obi-Wan Kenobi, I do.”

There was a moment of tense, shocked silence, and then Plo sighed. “He is… quite young, yet. I had thought you meant to name Master Jinn.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn may have been elected to represent us on the Committee, but he is far too radical, and has shown blatant disrespect for this Council far too often to be nominated to it,” Sassee Tiin objected, his voice flat. A ripple of agreement rose from several of the others, and Yoda sighed. A debate was not what he had intended to engender with his recommendation--but even he, the Grand-Master of the Order, could not single-handedly _declare_ his own successor. The Council would have to come to complete agreement.

For a time, Yoda allowed himself to drift on the currents of the Force, half of his attention on the debate around him, taking in only vague intimations of what was actually being said (“--hasn't been a _Mandalorian Jedi_ in centuries, how can we be certain of his loyalties? ” “-- _did_ leave the Order, though it has been years since then--” “Master Jinn has shown an increasing willingness to work _with_ this Council--”), until one statement caught his attention--

“Knight Kenobi is quite impressive, as we all know, but he is not even a Master, yet, and therefore, technically ineligible,” Ki-Adi pointed out. “And Master Jinn is renowned for his abilities with the Living Force. Considering that we will be replacing Master Yoda, who is far more given to the Living Force than the Unifying Force, as most of us are, his perspective may be a welcome addition.”

“Wrong, you are,” Yoda said. “A Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi became long ago. The Living Force, he once struggled to sense. But no longer. Balanced, he is. Balance, we will need. Balanced, Qui-Gon is not.”

The Councilors took a moment to think on that point, and Yoda waited patiently until Ki-Adi spoke again. “Then allow Kenobi to prove it to us. Let him undertake his Mastery Trials. If he proves himself, we will take his nomination to a vote.”

A ripple of agreement went through the others, and Yoda sighed, his ears drooping. “Accept your offer, I do. No doubt, I have, that pass, he will. No test, is there, that we could give him, that worse than the Trials he has already endured, there could be. A _Master,_ he _is_. Succeed, he will.”

 _And_ **_change,_ ** _he will bring._


	25. Jango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo… I know I said that there would be both action and Obi-Wan’s reaction to some of the Council’s decisions this chapter, but I ended up having to split this into 2 parts. So chapter 27 will resolve what happens in this one, giving us some action, and Obi-Wan’s reaction to the Council news. Sorry, I try to estimate for y'all when something will happen, but I don't always get it quite right!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> vod: brother  
> ade: children  
> buy'ce: helmet  
> Vor'e: Thanks  
> Elek. Ni cuyi Mand'alor.: Yes. I am the Mand'alor.  
> mandokarla: having the right stuff, what makes a Mando  
> ner vod: my brother  
> Resol'nare: Six tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> Gar akaane cuyi ner akanne, vod.: Your battles are my battles, brother.  
> Ni ceta, buir.: I'm sorry, dad. (Lit. "I kneel")  
> Su'cuy: Hi!  
> riduurok: marriage vows/Mandalorian wedding  
> Vor entye: Thank you (the long form of vor'e)  
> Tion'cuyi kaysh?: Who are they?  
> cuun vod: our brother  
> Jetii adiiik: Jedi youngling (adiik describes a child aged 3-13)  
> gar ade: your children  
> Tion'kaysh gaise?: What are their names? (Lit. "what they names?" because Mandalorians often drop implied verbs; words ending in vowels use -se suffixes to indicate plurals)  
> K'oyacyi: Stay alive  
> Nayc: No  
> cyare: sweetheart, beloved  
> Ni dinu ner gaan nakkyc: Honor my offer of truce (pulled from half a phrase on Wookiepedia, so please let me know if this is incorrect lol)  
> Sha'kajir: Cease-fire, truce  
> Jetii osik: Jedi shit  
> Haar'chak: Dammit  
> Di'kutla Jetii: Stupid Jedi

It was an easy decision, in the end, to follow Obi-Wan and Jinn. Jango may not have known precisely what or who they would be going up against, but he _did_ know that resignation on his _vod_ ’s face, the storm in his eyes, the look that signalled that he was _dreading_ what he might find, and what he might have to do. And while he might not have known their opponent, he knew _why_ they were leaving. Shmi had told him everything, after Naboo.

Obi-Wan had saved so many of their _ade,_ on Concord Dawn, injuring himself in the process. Now, he was chasing after another _ad_ , one who had been meant for the _Jetiise,_ and Jango… He still didn’t _like_ or _approve_ of the fact that they removed them from their families so young, but this one was an orphan.

He knew as soon as Obi-Wan announced that they would have to leave that he would follow, although Jango decided not to say so. The longer he gave his _vod_ to stew on it, the longer Obi-Wan would have to formulate an argument against him going. Jango didn’t plan to give him the chance.

He met them out on the platform, wearing his full armor and carrying his usual assortment of weapons, his _buy’ce_ under one arm. Obi-Wan looked at him and smiled tightly.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Anakin…?” Jango shook his head, and then heard Shmi’s bright laugh just behind him. She came to stand at his side, gently bumping their pauldrons together.

“He’s sulking,” Shmi said with a shrug. “He used to do the same thing as a younger child--when I would have to part from him, even if only for a bit, he would hide from me. I learned early on that attempting to find him was precisely what he wanted, but we cannot feed that behavior by rewarding it. You don’t need to worry; I’m certain I’ll find him as soon as you leave.”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “I had hoped he would come to see us off. But… you’re right, of course. Well, tell him…”

Shmi smiled gently at him. “I will.”

“ _Vor’e._ ” Obi-Wan turned back to Jango, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“Where are we headed?” Obi-Wan blinked at him, his brow furrowing lightly, and he opened his mouth--no doubt to protest--but Jango cut him off. “I’m going with you.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him. “Jango--”

“Give us a moment,” Jango said, and Shmi nodded.

“I’ll see if Master Qui-Gon requires any help.” He waited until she disappeared into the _Prudii_ to find Jinn before turning back to Obi-Wan.

“There are _many_ reasons you should not come,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Jango raised an eyebrow at him.

“And there are many reasons I should.”

“You are the _Mand’alor,_ Jango. They _need_ you. You shouldn’t risk--”

“ _Elek. Ni cuyi Mand’alor._ And I was given the title, and retook it, because of my ability to fight,” Jango returned easily. “You know I can take care of myself.”

Obi-Wan frowned, something _dark_ flickering in his eyes, and Jango scowled. “Jango, the girl we’re trying to find was taken by the Sith. If you help us, you’ll be putting yourself in danger not just during the fighting I sense is coming, but in the larger scheme of things. You know that they are connected to this.” He waved a hand back towards the facility, and Jango grimaced at the reminder. “You have been able to get away with what we’ve done so far because none of it has been a direct attack against the Sith. But if you help us now, they will realize where your allegiance truly is.”

Jango stared at him, and then he threw his head back and laughed. “Really, _vod?_ I’m fairly certain they could figure it out just by looking at your pauldrons.” He shook his head. “I’ve made my choice. I’m coming with you. It… wouldn’t be honorable, not to.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully, and then slowly, he said, “You don’t owe me anything, you know. For Concord Dawn.”

Jango growled low and shook his head. “It’s not about that. Well, it is, but not because I owe you anything for saving them. You proved to me that day that you are _mandokarla,_ and I claimed you as _ner vod._ You swore the _Resol’nare,_ and you wear my mark into battle. You may be a _Jetii,_ but you’re also one of mine. I look after my own. _Gar akaane cuyi_ **_ner_ ** _akaane, vod._ ”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment, and Jango met his gaze steadily. Finally, he nodded. “We’re headed for Sojourn, in the Carrion Sector.”

Jango frowned. “Sojourn? I doubt there’s anyone left there.”

“Yes, we know. This is most likely a trap of some sort.”

“Then why are you going?” Jango sighed, exasperated. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Springing the trap is the best idea we have, and this is still our only lead. Even if it is a trap, _our_ honor demands that we try to find her, or at least find what clues we can there,” Obi-Wan said. Jango nodded slowly, a feeling of unease pooling in his gut. He didn’t like this.

“Fine. The Carrion Sector is across the galaxy. We’ll both have to stop for fuel at least once, probably twice, just to be safe.”

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement. “Yes. Our first stop will be Kashyyyk. It’s a fairly straight shot down the hyperlane.”

Jango nodded his agreement. “I’ll take the _Slave._ Couldn’t hurt to have an extra escape route, if this does go to Hel.”

Obi-Wan nodded again and smiled at him, offering his hand. Jango clasped it, hand-to-wrist. “I’ll see you on Kashyyyk, then. And… _vor’e._ ”

“You don’t have to thank me, _vod._ Not for this.”

* * *

_Slave I_ didn’t feel right. Jango couldn’t put his finger on it, though--all of the preflight checks and diagnostics had come back green, and the ship-board armory was untouched, but something felt… _off._ Sighing, he put it down to his own unease about this mission, and fired up the thrusters.

He thought of Boba as he left Kamino’s atmosphere and punched in the coordinates for Kashyyyk. Thankfully, his _ad_ was young enough yet that he wouldn’t really remember Jango leaving him behind, although he knew that that would change all too quickly. Then he’d probably have a brat like Anakin on his hands--Shmi’s _adiik_ had turned into a terror after Obi-Wan had broken the news to him that he’d have to stay on Kamino while they went after the girl. Boba was smart, and Jango had no doubt that sooner than he’d like, his own _ad_ would find ways to cause trouble and give him Hel for leaving him like this. But for now, Boba had pouted some, but seemed to understand when Jango told him he had to leave to help his _vod,_ and that Boba wasn’t allowed to come with him until he was big enough to hold a blaster by himself.

Jango had a feeling he was going to regret that promise, but it had appeased Boba, for the moment.

He heard a distant thud just before he hit hyperspace and glanced back. Seeing nothing, he frowned, but put it down to something shifting, not properly secured. Sighing, Jango made a mental note to run another check of the ship, just for good measure. But for now… It would take days, even in hyperspace, to reach Kashyyyk, and he had spent most of the night up late with Shmi, making contingency plans for Kamino, and the _ade_ there. Just in case.

Stretching his arms over his head as he stood, he decided a nap was in order, and headed for his bunk.

* * *

It took almost a week to reach Kashyyyk, and Jango had had to endure increasing flares of concern throughout the trip. _Something_ was wrong, though he couldn’t put his finger on _what._ He frowned at the rations in the galley cabinet--he’d thought he was better stocked than that. Shaking his head, he decided to resupply as well as refuel on Kashyyyk and headed for the cockpit.

Settling into the pilot’s chair, he brought the ship out of hyperspace and frowned as something started to beep rhythmically, and _loudly._ Jango glanced at the readouts in concern, but everything looked good, and that wasn’t one of the sounds he’d ever heard the _Slave_ make--

And then there was a distinct _thud_ from above him, and he growled low. Jango _knew_ that there were only a few possibilities as to who would have snuck onto his ship, and he had a feeling he knew _exactly_ who had done it.

“Get down here, Skywalker.” There was a moment of tense silence, and Jango barked, “ _Now._ ”

The vent squeaked softly as it opened, and Anakin jumped down, landing softly and refusing to meet his gaze, staring down at the floor.

And then another _adiik_ dropped down, and another, and Jango stared at them, and then sighed, and shook his head. “Go sit down. I need to get us into orbit. _Then_ I will deal with you.”

Anakin darted out first, and ‘67 after him. Jango caught Cody’s arm. “I expected better of you, Cody.”

Cody winced. “ _Ni ceta, buir._ ”

“Sit down,” Jango ordered, gently pushing him towards the co-pilot’s chair. Cody sat stiffly, and Jango grabbed the controls. “Why?”

“...General Kenobi asked ‘67 and me to watch out for Anakin, while he was gone. But he was determined to come with. I _did_ try to talk him out of it, but he only promised that he wouldn’t sneak onto the _General’s_ ship. He didn’t say anything about the _Slave,_ ” Cody sighed, and hung his head. “I didn’t catch it. When ‘67 and I realized what he was doing… We went after him, and followed him up into the vents. He led us around the entire ship, and by the time we caught up to him, we were already in hyperspace.”

Jango sighed and shook his head. “I understand. But you know you should have told me as soon as you could.”

“I know. _Ni ceta._ ”

Jango nodded and let go of the controls, waiting to hear from the _Prudii_ what fuel station they would meet at. It took only a few minutes before the comm chimed.

“ _Jango. We’ll meet down at the fuel station near Tyyykla._ ”

“Good,” Jango grunted. “We need to talk.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“You’ll see when I get there.”

* * *

The _Prudii_ was already fuelling when they touched down, and Jango gestured for Cody to follow him from the cockpit. He glared at ‘67 and Anakin, sitting on one of the benches, and jerked his head towards the ramp.

Obi-Wan and Jinn were standing near the end of the ramp of the _Prudii,_ speaking with a pair of Wookies, before one of them peeled off with Master Jinn, leading him towards one of their wooden buildings. Obi-Wan must have sensed him, because he turned to look at him as he approached, a smile on his face that quickly faded as he saw the three _ade_ trailing behind him.

“ _Anakin,_ ” he snapped when they came close enough for him to be heard. Obi-Wan hadn’t raised his voice, though he was frowning, his brow furrowed, but Anakin flinched at his tone. Obi-Wan saw it and sighed, turning to Jango. “I take it these three were stowaways?”

“ _Elek._ ”

“We’re sorry, General,” Cody said. “We tried to stop him, but he was determined to come with. Once we realized that he was going to no matter what, we _had_ to follow him.”

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long moment, and then he sighed again, his expression turning more exasperated than angry. “I understand, Commander. Anakin… Please look at me, Padawan.” Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, scowling. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I… I just ha--get _severely annoyed_ when I know you’re going to do something dangerous without me. It’s… I can _feel it,_ through our bond, when something happens, and it drives me crazy that I’m not there,” Anakin said, shifting slightly. Jango could tell he wanted to look down again, but he squared his shoulders and forced himself to hold Obi-Wan’s gaze. “And I couldn’t let you walk into a trap! I had to warn you, and help if I could, because I _know you,_ and I know Master Qui-Gon, and you two always ‘spring the trap.’ I just wanted to help.”

“Anakin… I realize that you had good intentions, but I doubt that you truly understand what you’ve done,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “You--”

“Do we have to do this in front of everybody?” Anakin muttered, and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him.

“ _Elek._ You brought Cody and ‘67 into this, and Jango is their _buir._ They all deserve to hear it.”

“...fine.”

“As I said, you brought Cody and ‘67 into this. Into _danger._ It wasn’t just _your_ safety that you gambled. You also broke Jango’s trust, and your own _buir_ ’s, and _mine_ . And then there is the matter of what we are actually going to be _doing._ We _know_ that Trilla was taken by someone Force-sensitive, and we know that that is most likely the Sith. They have already demonstrated their willingness to kill in order to get their hands on a Force-sensitive child,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin flinched again. “We both know that your midichlorian count is _monstrously_ high, and even with your best shields up, you are a _beacon_ of power in the Force. What do you think the Sith would be willing to do to get their hands on _you,_ Padawan?”

“I can handle myself!” Anakin protested, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Against a band of pirates, or a squad of mercenaries, I am quite confident you could,” Obi-Wan returned. “But not against the Sith. Even after Qui-Gon’s injury, you aren’t able to beat him in an open spar, yet. And Qui-Gon was not able to best the Sith on Naboo, and Maul was only an _apprentice,_ and a young one, at that. You are powerful in the Force, that much is true, but you are still a _child_ _,_ Anakin. You have much training ahead of you before you are skilled enough, and _old enough,_ to face a Sith Lord. You _will_ get there, of that I have no doubt, but you must understand the reality of our situation. Focus on the here and now, Padawan.”

“...yes, Master,” Anakin said, bowing his head at last, his shoulders slumping. “I understand.”

“I admire your spirit, and your intent, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, tone gentler now. “But one day, I _will_ make you understand that _your_ safety is my first priority. Now, Jango, do you have any suggestions on what to do with them? We cannot abandon our mission, but neither can we take them with us.”

Jango raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if Obi-Wan really thought that he would offer to take the _ade_ back and let him and Jinn go alone. He almost appreciated that Obi-Wan wanted to give him an out, one more chance to change his mind, and save face while doing so, but he was more irritated than pleased by his consideration.

“We’ll have to stop for fuel a second time,” Jango said. “We can stop on Concord Dawn, and drop off the _ade_ with the Tribe until we’re finished in the Carrion Sector. They won’t ask too many questions, if we tell them that these are our _ade,_ and the Tribe have proven their honor and loyalty. I have no reservations about letting them watch the _ade,_ or their willingness to do so _._ ”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Very well. I will inform Qui-Gon of the change in plans, and you, Padawan, will comm Shmi. I’m certain she’s looking for you by now, and quite likely panicking.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Unless she knew about this.”

“No!” Anakin protested, frowning at him. “She would’ve stopped me. Why would you even think that?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Obi-Wan sighed. “You _are_ her son, after all. Now go, into the _Prudii._ Comm your _buir._ ”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin stomped off towards the _Prudii,_ and Jango sighed.

“Back into the ship,” he ordered Cody and ‘67. “I still have to refuel.” His _ade_ nodded and turned on their heels, marching off towards the ship in perfect unison, looking every bit the _verd’ike_ that they were. Jango looked at Obi-Wan, who suddenly seemed… tired. Jango sighed and shifted forward, bumping their pauldrons together. Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a smile, and he nodded once. Jango nodded back and wordlessly stalked off towards the Wookies.

 _Ade,_ he mentally groaned. _Ka’ra, why_ did he decide to become a _buir?_

* * *

Jango returned to the ship a little more than an hour later, carrying a crate with him. Cody and ‘67 were seated on one of the benches, looking sullen and quiet, and Jango sighed, unceremoniously setting it at their feet.

“There are several changes of clothes for each of you,” he said flatly. “You don’t have to change now, but you will once we reach Concord Dawn.” They nodded slowly. “And I resupplied the rations.” He raised an eyebrow, and they both looked down again. He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “You can put them away, once we’re back in hyperspace. It will take about four days to reach Concord Dawn from here, and you will spend most of that time training.”

“ _Elek, buir._ ”

“Good. Now stay there while we jump.”

As soon as they were en route to Concord Dawn, Jango set them to work. Both of them opted to change into the relatively inconspicuous tunics and leggings he’d given them, though they both scowled when he told them that they would have to leave their training armor on the _Slave_ while they were on Concord Dawn. He almost smiled at that--at least he’d managed to instill a _Mando’ad’s_ attachment to their armor in them.

For the next four days, their journey was relatively quiet. Most of the day, in between meals (and _ka’ra,_ Jango was dazzled by the healthy appetites of teeangers, and he certainly didn’t remember eating that much when he was their age, either physical or technical) _,_ they would train in the cargo hold, Jango making them spar each other without padding, their punishment for stowing away, and then they would train with blasters and blades. Jango could tell that ‘67 had been spending time with Shmi, as he was most proficient in blaster pistols, and kept eyeing the heavy staffs in the armory with a wistful eye, though they all knew there simply wasn’t enough room for those in the hold. Cody, he already knew, preferred the two-handed blaster carbine and the vibroblades--which they used more often, since there was actually room enough for them.

Jango frowned thoughtfully as he noticed something oddly familiar about their footwork, but that he knew they hadn’t gotten from him. It hit him, after a moment, and he laughed.

“I’d heard that the _Jetiise_ were training with you, but I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he said at their questioning looks. He waved a hand at them. “I recognize some of the forms.”

They exchanged glances, wide smiles spreading across their faces, and-- _kark._ Jango was getting _soft,_ swiftly finding his anger at them fading in favor of _gratitude_ and _pleasure_ at being able to spend time with them like this, truly free to interact without prying eyes in a way they were never able to achieve on Kamino.

Scowling at himself, he waved a hand for them to continue and retreated back into his thoughts.

* * *

Both _ade_ were eager to see their _buir’s_ home world, and Jango found himself forcing down a smile as they landed outside the compound. The urge to smile faded as he remembered that he would have to explain who they were, and that might carry questions none of them were ready to answer. He _wanted_ to claim his _ade,_ give all, eventual, 1.2 million of them his name and bring them _home,_ to the Mandalore system, but… not yet. There were too many implications to the story of their creation, and if Jango did not control how it was presented to his people, he feared how they might take it.

And he couldn’t risk Mandalore because of his poor planning, not again. But neither could he risk his _ade;_ they would have to be left here _._ Sighing, he turned to Cody and ‘67, who he had allowed to sit in the cockpit with him for the landing.

“Let me do the talking,” he told them as he rose from the pilot’s chair. “These are honorable _Mando’ade,_ but… there are things about our situation that they can’t know--not yet. Don’t tell them about your _vod’e,_ besides Boba, and don’t talk about Kamino. Just say you’re my sons, being raised in a Clan with other _Mando’ade_ on a water planet, if you’re asked, alright?”

“ _Elek, buir,_ ” they chorused, a familiar phrase, spoken more often than ever over the last four days. Jango nodded, satisfied, for now.

The _Jetiise_ were already there in the central courtyard, and there was a small crowd of the Tribe around them, some adults in full _beskar’gam,_ as expected, and some _ade_ who were not yet old enough for that. Those had flocked to Anakin, and he smothered a laugh as he saw Anakin showing off his lightsaber, pointing out the different components. Jinn seemed to be quite comfortable, speaking calmly with a few _Mando’ade,_ while Jango saw two familiar sets of armor beside Obi-Wan.

As he approached, Patri Vizla and Saiya turned to him. Saiya approached first, sprinting towards him and grabbing his shoulders before bumping their _buy’ce_ together in a rough _kov'nynir_ . Jango did let out a bark of laughter at that, her exuberance so _typical_ of her--once you got past her suspicious, prickly exterior, she was a good friend, and loyal.

“ _Su’cuy, Mand’alor!_ ” she said, stepping back to press her closed right fist over her chest. Around them, the other _Mando’ade_ paused to repeat the gesture before turning back to their conversations, though some watched him and Saiya in what he thought was amusement, though it was hard to tell, covered as they all were.

“ _Su’cuy, vod._ And congratulations on your _riduurok_ ,” he added as Patri approached with Obi-Wan at his side.

“ _Vor entye._ Your gift was generous,” Patri said. Jango smiled and nodded at him; he had known he wouldn’t be able to be present for the celebration they were having after they said their _riduurok,_ and so he had left _beskar_ with Petra and asked her to forge _beskad’e_ for them both, matching blades with his symbol etched into them. She had been all too pleased to help with his request.

“ _Tion’cuyi kaysh?_ ” Saiay asked, nodding her head towards ‘67 and Cody, standing stiffly behind him.

“ _Ner ade,_ ” Jango answered simply. “They are why we’re here, actually.”

“Oh?” Saiya said, tilting her head slightly.

“I’m helping _cuun vod_ find a missing _Jetii adiik,_ ” Jango explained. “But where we’re heading is too dangerous for them. We meant to leave them in Shmi’s care, but they decided to stow away. She’s on the other side of the galaxy, and it would take too long to take them back. I thought perhaps you’d agree to watch them until we get back.”

Saiya laughed at that, throwing her head back slightly. “That sounds about right for your _ade,_ Jango. I bet you were just as much trouble at their age.”

Jango grinned at her and shrugged. “No comment.”

She laughed again and shook her head. “Well, we’d be glad to watch them. They’re _ner vod’ade,_ after all.”

“ _Vor entye._ ”

“Perhaps, someday, we will teach you that you need not thank us.” Jango turned at the familiar voice, nodding to Petra as she approached, putting her fist to her chest and nodding as she approached. “It is our honor to serve an honorable _Mand’alor._ ”

“And I would not be an honorable _Mand’alor_ if I did not acknowledge your acts of service,” he shot back, and she stilled before humming thoughtfully, inclining her head in concession of the point.

“Saiya was correct: we will be glad to care for _gar ade_ until you return.”

“ _Vor’e,_ ” he said, just to be difficult, and she shook her head slightly before turning to the _ade._

“ _Tion’kaysh gaise?_ ”

Jango stilled. He’d known that was a question they were likely to ask, and he’d known that he’d have to have a better answer than “CT-7567,” but… nothing he’d thought of on the flight over had felt like it fit _._ And he also wondered if it was even his _right_ to name them--Shmi had insisted, and he had agreed, that they be given whatever signs and symbols of self they could find for themselves, after they had started choosing names, once Cody had his. So should he wait, and let ‘67 answer? Jango glanced at the boy and frowned, because his eyes were too wide, and he knew that look: ‘67 was trying not to panic.

“This is Cody,” Obi-Wan cut in smoothly, gesturing to the boy in question, “and Rex. They’re a bit shy, at the moment--they’ve never left home before, you see.”

Rex. Or was it Wrecks? Some of the _ade_ had chosen _ridiculous_ names--like _Waxer,_ and _Boil,_ though he respected his _ade’s_ choices--so it _could_ be Wrecks. And was that the name that he’d chosen for _himself,_ in that vision? Or had he been _named,_ as Cody had?

“Well met,” Patri said kindly, and the boys nodded back.

“We’ll have time for introductions later,” Saiya cut in. “Why don’t I show you where you’ll be bunking, and then you can come back down to say goodbye to your _buir?_ ”

* * *

Anakin was scowling heavily at Obi-Wan, sullen as they said their goodbyes, and Jango tried to resist the urge to laugh. He turned instead to his _ade._

“Mind them well,” Jango told them, and they both nodded. ‘67--Rex? Jango still didn’t know if the name was just a cover, something pulled out of thin air at the last second to save them the pain of an explanation, or if Obi-Wan had _seen it_ the same way he had Cody’s--caught Obi-Wan’s eye, and he patted Anakin’s shoulder once more before making his way over to them, leaving Anakin to say his goodbyes to Jinn.

“I’m ready,” Jango said, and Obi-Wan nodded to him before turning to--kark it, it was just easier to call him Rex, for now. Better than ‘67, anyway. The _adiik_ looked like he was about to burst, and Obi-Wan smiled gently at him.

“I imagine you have questions.”

“ _Elek, alor._ Did you… know my name the same way you knew Cody’s?” he asked eagerly, and Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “ _Oya._ Do you… do you know how I got it?”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I _do_ know what it means.” Rex nodded eagerly, silently asking for the explanation, and Obi-Wan smiled again. “In Old High Aurebesh, it means ‘king.’”

Cody and Rex exchanged startled, wide-eyed glances, and Jango shot Obi-Wan a _look._ The _Jetii_ just shrugged.

“I’ve already warned Petra, Patri, and Saiya that Anakin might try to leave with us again,” Obi-Wan sighed. Jango raised an eyebrow.

“You really think he’d try again after the speech you gave him?”

“ _Elek._ Now that he knows Cody and Rex would be safe, he absolutely would.”

Jango huffed a laugh and shook his head. Turning back to Cody and Rex, he gave them both a smile. “Listen to the _Mando’ade._ They’ll have much to teach you.”

“ _Elek, buir. K’oyacyi._ ”

Jango nodded. “ _K’oyacyi, ner ade._ We’ll be back for you soon.”

They nodded again and, taking the dismissal for what it was, they turned away and walked back towards the compound. Jango nodded to himself and turned once more to Obi-Wan, who was looking at him thoughtfully. He frowned. “What?”

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to leave the _Slave_ here and come in the _Prudii?_ ”

Jango scowled. “Why?”

“The _Slave,_ so far as I’m aware, does not have a cloak,” Obi-Wan answered, and Jango growled, and then sighed.

“Fine. But not here--Anakin is far too familiar with it, after I let him poke around the cockpit and the engines. If you think he’d still try to follow us, it’ll be better not to have temptation sitting there within reach,” Jango said. Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“The homestead…?” he suggested slowly, but Jango shook his head.

“Too unprotected. _Nayc,_ I’ll leave it with Kryze.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, and then he grimaced. “Please do me one favor?” Jango hummed noncommittally. “If you see Satine, _please_ do not tell her I’m here. She’d want to see me, and we really don’t have the time to spare for the argument I know she’ll want to have.”

Jango laughed outright at that. “As if you don’t encourage her every step of the way. But fine, _vod,_ I’ll lie to your _cyare_ for you.”

Obi-Wan sputtered indignantly. “I would _hardly_ call her my _cyare._ ”

Jango smirked and shrugged, clapping him on the shoulder as he moved off towards the ship, ignoring the heat of Obi-Wan’s glare on his back.

* * *

Jinn was uncomfortable with his presence, his expression pinched more than placid every time they were in the same room together, which was fairly often, given that the _Prudii_ was hardly a large ship. Jango wondered if Jinn disliked him because of his history with _Jetiise_ who weren’t Obi-Wan, or if it was because he had taken Obi-Wan swearing to the _Resol’nare_ as badly as he’d heard Satine had.

For the first day of the last leg of their journey to the Carrion sector, it amused Jango, and he was content to do nothing to ease Jinn’s obvious unease. He returned Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrows, sighs, and disappointed head-shaking with a shrug and a grin every time, as if to silently say, “ _I’m not even doing anything, see?_ ”

The second day, only one more day’s travel from their destination, Jango found it getting old, and bothersome. They would have to spend the rest of their time planning, as much as they could with what little intelligence they had, and that would be aggravating if Jinn kept clamming up and not-quite-glaring at him.

“Jinn,” he said, leaning against the wall just inside the galley, addressing the _Jetii_ currently savoring a cup of tea. Jango jerked his head, and Jinn frowned, but drained the rest of his tea and slowly stood to follow him.

Jango led them to the cargo hold, and then stopped, nodding. “We can fight, or we can talk.”

Jinn blinked and then frowned at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Jango shrugged. “Look, it’s simple. You’ve got a problem with me. We need to resolve it if we’re going to work together effectively. I know two ways to do that: fight, or talk. Your choice.”

The _Jetii_ continued to frown at him, and then he sighed, shaking his head. “I rather think it is _you_ who has a problem with _me._ ”

It was Jango’s turn to frown at that. “...what?”

“I can sense some of your more… volatile emotions, in the Force,” Jinn explained, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “And it rather feels as though you… greatly dislike me.”

“You mean I hate you,” Jango said flatly. Jinn winced at the word “hate,” and Jango barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the man. “I’ll be blunt: I don’t _hate_ you, but I really don’t like you, either.”

Jinn nodded. “That is perfectly understandable, given your history with the Jedi Order. I understand that Obi-Wan is clearly an exception--”

Jango growled at him and folded his arms over his chest. “It’s not because you’re a _Jetii._ It’s… _Ade--_ children--are _the most important thing_ to _Mando’ade._ And you were a shit _buir._ You hurt him.”

The understanding sympathy on his face quickly faded, giving way to something like _grief._ “Ah. He had told me that you knew about Bandomeer--”

“And Melida/Daan.”

Jinn flinched. “Yes. Those were… far from my best moments.” Jango raised an eyebrow, and Jinn sighed. “I know that I did not do right by him, when he was my Padawan. And I realize that this may be a poor excuse, but I had a near-death experience that… changed my perspective, and I have spent the past three years at his side, so much as I could. Obi-Wan and Anakin are my first priorities, now.”

He frowned at that, but knew that Jinn was talking about Naboo. Under other circumstances, Jango might have said that was _osik,_ but they had encountered the first Sith in a thousand years, and from what Jango had seen of that reactor room footage, Jinn _should_ have died, only Obi-Wan’s stubbornness keeping him alive. He supposed that was enough to rattle somebody, make them reconsider their relationships. He nodded curtly.

Jinn nodded back, though he was still stiff. Jango raised an eyebrow at him, and Jinn frowned. “Since we are attempting to clear the air, I… would ask an uncomfortable question of you.” Jango shrugged. “Why would you allow yourself to be cloned for an army meant for the Republic, and intended to be led by the Jedi?”

Jango scowled. “That’s not something you want to get into right now, Jinn. Trust me.”

The _Jetii_ raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you know, then, about what they are meant to do?”

“Of course I do. It’s the reason I agreed.”

“And now you’re on a ship with two Jedi, one of whom you’ve allowed to swear to the _Resol’nare,_ and wear _beskar’gam,_ ” Jinn said flatly. “ _Is_ Obi-Wan an exception to your hatred of the Jedi? Or do you intend to help us, and undo what you started?”

Jango sighed, though he refused to break eye contact. “ _Grief_ does things to you. But grief is a paralytic, and I’ve never been one for inaction. So I turned to anger and hate instead. You _Jetiise_ know what that does to someone. I was no different. But I can’t regret the choice I made. The Kamino job would have been given to someone else, if I hadn’t taken it. But I did, and they are _ner ade--_ all of them. I will not allow them to be used.”

“So we have a common goal, then,” Jinn said slowly, “in freeing the children. I suppose that does make us allies, however temporarily that may be. Between that fact, and our connections to Obi-Wan, I believe that should be enough for us to behave civilly towards one another, hmm?”

“ _Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc,_ ” Jango said, holding out his right hand. Jinn blinked at him, and then nodded slowly.

Clasping Jango’s wrist, Jinn offered, “ _Sha'kajir._ ”

* * *

But Jinn wasn’t the only one who’d had a problem with him coming along. R2-D2 was an incredibly foul-mouthed little astromech, and Jango might’ve found it funny, if the swearing hadn’t been directed at him. Obi-Wan had simply looked at the droid and sighed, shaking his head and tapping his _beskar’gam_ pointedly. The astromech had beeped something about Jango’s _buir_ that made him frown and rolled off, refusing to spend any time whatsoever in the same space as Jango for the rest of the flight, though he swore that the droid was probably the one turning off the heat in his bunk--and _only_ his bunk, as Obi-Wan and Jinn did not seem to share his misfortune.

After Jango had made his peace with Jinn, he remained in the cargo hold, going through his exercises to burn some energy after the _Jetii_ left him alone. He wasn’t even sweating when the droid rolled into the room, unceremoniously plugged into the ship, and sealed the hatch to the rest of the ship. Jango stopped, folding his arms over his chest and scowling at the droid.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“ _If you try to kill Friend Obi-Wan, I will fucking end you, and make sure your body is never found,_ ” the droid beeped at him. Jango raised an eyebrow at him. “ _I have killed more intimidating people than you._ ”

“Why would I try to kill him? He’s my _vod._ ”

“ _Because you’ve tried before._ ”

Jango frowned outright at that. “ _Nayc,_ I haven’t.”

“ _I was not there on Kamino, but R4 told me what you did. You try it again, and I will kill you._ ”

“I’m not going to try to kill Obi-Wan,” Jango said, wondering what in the name of the _ka’ra_ the droid was talking about. It must have a few wires crossed. “He’s my _vod._ I’m honor-bound to watch his back.”

R2-D2 remained silent for a long moment, and then unceremoniously turned away to reopen the hatch, leaving Jango alone again in the cargo hold, wondering what the Hel had just happened.

* * *

“Now, thanks to the intelligence we received from Naboo, we at least know the coordinates on Sojourn that we should direct our attentions to,” Obi-Wan said, zooming in on the holomap.

“The area that was already bombed to Hel and back?” Jango drawled, and Obi-Wan sighed.

“I know you don’t expect to find anything there, Jango, but we _must_ look,” he said. Jango shrugged. “Now, we’ll try to go in as quietly as possible, which means exiting hyperspace a bit prematurely so that we can engage the cloak before we’re too close to springing whatever trap has been left for us.”

Jinn frowned. “With the cloak active, we won’t be able to use the ship’s scanners. I hope you don’t intend to go down to the surface yourself until we’ve confirmed the levels of radiation are not overly harmful.”

Obi-Wan grinned at them. “R2 has some excellently upgraded scanners. He can’t manage it from _inside_ of the ship, but the cargo hold can be separately depressurized to let him jettison. He has his own booster system, and can fly himself back into the ship once his scans are complete. Once we have more data on the area in question, we can make a more specific plan.”

Jango frowned and glanced around for R2-D2. Not seeing the droid, he said, “You really want to trust something like that to him?”

Obi-Wan sighed again, shaking his head. “I know the two of you don’t get along, but he _is_ reliable.”

Jango snorted at that. “It sounded to me like he’s got a few missing parts, _vod._ He seems to think that I tried to kill you on Kamino, and said he wasn’t even there, when we all know that he was.”

Obi-Wan stilled, and then groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I _told him_ not to talk about that.”

Jango frowned. “What?”

“It’s… difficult to explain.”

“More _Jetii osik?_ ” Jango drawled, and Jinn pursed his lips at that while Obi-Wan merely snorted.

“ _Elek._ It’s… complicated,” Obi-Wan said lamely. “We can talk about this later. But for now, rest assured that R2 is in perfect working order. He will do what we need him to, I can guarantee that.”

It was Jango’s turn to sigh. “Fine. It’s not as if I have any other suggestions. But for the record, your plans are terrible.”

Obi-Wan laughed again, shrugging. “That’s what you said about Tatooine, too. And that worked out beautifully, if I do say so myself.”

“I highly doubt you could’ve fit Nuhunarla onto the _Prudii_ without me noticing; she won’t be around to save your _shebs_ this time.”

“Nuhunarla?” Jinn repeated, and Jango stared at him for a moment before grinning broadly.

“Obi-Wan’s Great Krayt Dragon friend,” Jango told him, and Jinn blinked at him before laughing.

“He always did have a way with animals. Did he ever tell you about our mission to Ciidlah III?”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “As lovely as swapping stories sounds, we really do need to finish preparing for the mission at hand.” He raised an eyebrow at them, and both Jango and Jinn nodded. Obi-Wan nodded back, satisfied, and turned on his heel.

“Embarrassing story?” Jango asked, and Jinn smiled.

“He ended up adopted by a mother nexu, and I found him being groomed by her after we had gotten separated in the jungle. When I attempted to retrieve him, the nexu was rather… zealous in protecting him,” Jinn said dryly, and Jango snorted and shook his head.

“Sounds about right.”

* * *

Their entry into the Carrion system, and Sojourn’s sector itself, went perfectly. Of course, that set Jango on-edge again. _Nothing_ went perfectly, and his instincts screaming that this was a trap grew only stronger as they met no resistance, not even a single patrol ship in orbit around Sojourn itself. Trying to calm himself with the fact that they already _knew_ this was a trap didn’t help much.

The _Prudii_ was cloaked and in-orbit, and Obi-Wan jettisoned R2. He used his thrusters to angle himself beside the ship, a little sensor array sliding out of one of the ports on top of the dome. They waited in tense silence, and then the datapad Obi-Wan had connected to him beeped. He scanned it quickly and sighed.

“Nothing. No life forms, no structures. Just barren land. If they _are_ on Sojourn, they aren’t there.” Sighing, Obi-Wan activated the wrist-comm built into his vambrace. “R2, get back into the ship.”

The droid beeped an affirmative, and Obi-Wan sighed. “Should we stay and continue scanning, or do we come back with a greater number of reinforcements…?”

Obi-Wan’s comm went off, and he frowned as he answered it. “Yes, R2?”

“ _A fleet just jumped into the system. They are heading for the planet._ ”

“ _Haar’chak,_ ” Obi-Wan growled. “Alright, thank you, R2. Get back in the ship. We’ll go from there.” He stilled as a shadow passed over them, and peered out the viewport. Jango leaned forward in the co-pilot’s seat, ignoring Jinn as he leaned between them to look as well.

“At least two _Providence_ -class dreadnoughts that I can see, and one _Fantail_ -class destroyer,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Though we won’t get confirmation on the total count until we can uncloak, and use the scanners. They often hide one ship behind another to mask their numbers. If they suspect we are here, and positioned themselves accordingly, there may be as many as six, possibly seven, although I would bet on five, knowing them.” Jango frowned.

“I’ve never seen those types of ships before.”

“I have,” Obi-Wan answered, his voice hard. Jinn and Jango both glanced at him in concern, but Obi-Wan’s attention was fully on the ships. He activated his comm. “R2, are you on board yet?”

“ _No. One of their ships is scanning me. If I disappear now, they will find your ship even with the cloak._ ”

“And if you don’t get back, they might pull you in,” Obi-Wan answered flatly. “You _know_ we can’t allow them access to you.”

“ _I will wait until the scan is complete,_ ” R2 insisted, and Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“As soon as the droid is back on the ship, we should uncloak and jump,” Jinn suggested.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly, still staring at the ships. “We should.”

Jango sighed. “I know that tone, _vod._ What are you planning?”

“We _could_ surrender,” Obi-Wan suggested, still not looking at them.

“ _Di’kutla Jetii,_ ” Jango said, purposefully echoing their first conversation. He saw Obi-Wan’s lips twitch, although his focus was still on the ships above them. “That’s a terrible plan.”

“Is it?” Obi-Wan hummed. “I know the layouts of all of those ships quite well, and I’ve escaped from each of them at least once before.”

“With far more men, I’m sure,” Jinn murmured. “There are only three of us, Obi-Wan. We should concede this for now, and report to the Council.”

“There are _four_ of us,” Obi-Wan corrected. “Don't forget R2--he gets rather cross. And since when are you the one to suggest caution and waiting for the Council?”

“We’re running out of time to make a decision,” Jango said flatly. “Whatever we’re going to do, we have to decide _now._ ”

“We get onto one of those ships,” Obi-Wan said. “We let them pull us into their tractor beam, which will keep the ship intact--we can act as though the cloak suddenly failed, and with them directly above us, they won’t become suspicious if we don’t put up much of a fight. Which I would rather _not,_ and risk damaging the _Prudii_ in a close-range firefight against a _dreadnought_. This will leave the ship intact in their hangar bay, ready for us when we’re prepared to escape.

“We can hide R2 on the ship itself, and seal him inside. Believe me when I say that he can control the security systems well enough to keep anyone out. All I want is a quick look at their hard drives. They might hold a clue as to the identity of the Sith tying the Bando Gora, the Trade Federation, and _Kyr’tsad_ together. They may even have information on Trilla. The opportunity is too good to pass on.”

Jango sighed. “I should be concerned about how often your plans involve getting captured,” he muttered. Jinn’s eyes narrowed--Obi-Wan must not have ever told him the details about Tatooine, then. But now was hardly the time for that. “This is still a terrible plan, but if you’re confident we can pull this off…?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, nodding decisively. “This is hardly new territory for me.”

“Fine. I say we do it your way, then, but you owe me an explanation and a good bottle of _tihaar_ after this,” Jango growled. Obi-Wan laughed, finally looking at him, and Jango finally cracked a smile of his own--far grimmer than Obi-Wan’s--at the now-familiar _storm_ in his eyes, and the promise of danger that look carried.

“ _Vor’e, vod._ We’ll wait for R2’s signal to disengage the cloak.”

Jango settled in to wait, focusing on calming his breathing to combat the pre-battle anticipation that always overtook him, before he hit the eye of the storm, and as Jango slowly counted his breaths, he thought he heard Jinn mutter, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wookiepedia says that Jango’s ship had a cloak added in 22 BBY, and we’re in 29 BBY right now.
> 
> On a more personal note… Next week’s chapter might be late. I have it mostly written already, but I’m going in for surgery tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s been planned for months, and I’m definitely not dying or anything LOL! But my recovery could take up to a week for this, and though I wanted to have more of a buffer to ensure that I won’t be late for next Monday’s chapter, life very much got in the way. I’ll do my best to ensure that it’s posted next Monday, but if it’s late, I apologize in advance! I’ll post as soon as I’m able to actually finish the chapter. :)
> 
> UPDATE: I'm not dead! Surgery was good, recovery is a pain though  
> I wasn't writing or replying to comments while I was on the heavy duty pain meds but Im tapering those down now so I should be back soon! :)


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